#before he found out about the truth of the greater will

[swallowtail-ageha]

There is also the fact that jolan and anna seem to be nox who were raised likely in bonny's gaol

We find the night set here, and the chestpiece says

[Bottomless black chest armor, cool to the touch. Flowing lines in the seeming shape of a fingerprint adorn the surface. Imprisons the wearer in utterly lightless dark. Bestowed upon those born deep underground, ordaining them as Swordhands of Night.]

while jolàn's spirit ashes description says

[Ashen remains in which spirits yet dwell. Use to summon the spirit of Swordhand of Night Jolán. Spirit of a swordhand granted light by the Iris of Grace. Wields a sword of bottomless black that penetrates the enemy's guard. Though it was not by the shining star that she had longed for, thus was her Night illuminated. But this was an at times blinding light, and threatened to expunge the Night entirely.]

The underground references + night references point to them being nox. Jolan's face data also really looks like the nightfolk facedata + there is the shamans being likely a slur for numens and the nox themselves being likely a subculture of numens, so they were likely nox children who got bred for the purpose of being weapons. Ymir is also carian and carians are astrologers, who are descendants of nox temselves. The light threatening to expunge the night is likely Ymir's creed of refusing the moons and turning to the greater will?

And at the end we have the Jolan and Anna spirit ashes, that say

[Ashen remains in which spirits yet dwell. Use to summon the spirits of Jolán and Anna. Spirits of two Swordhands of Night, one of them being possessed by Count Ymir's doll Anna. Together, Jolán's sword and Anna's claws are as bottomless black, and penetrate the enemy's guard. Jolán and Anna were born in a cold, dark gaol, where they were raised, deprived of light, to be Swordhands of Night. Thus were they cultivated to become the most terrifying masters of their blades, though the burden of the deed left their hearts frail and pliant.]

The wording used to refer to Anna, aka doll (aside from her being turned into a literal doll) + the fact that they are described as having frail and pliant hearts implies that at least there is some manipulation on Ymir's side, probably relating to their nox heritage and weird metyr shit, and i feel like the missing piece of the puzzle is whatever was happening in the rabbath rise, aka where we find anna's doll body. Even the doll thing in itself is interesting because the other characters we know that do that are seluvis/pidia and some unkown nox scholars

Actually Yuri being a human child gives me a huge bowl of mental food. Who was the true mother of Yuri then? Could Ymir have a wife that he forgot because of insanity? He says that he failed to "birth Yuri whole". Is it about fingercreeper that was on his hands? Or he tried to give Yuri birth trough fingercreeper? Maybe Yuri was just born sick with a short lifespan?

Maybe Yuri died at the very young age and that led Ymir to Metyr - he was trying to get how a mother creates healthy children and how motherhood works. Could he have grudge against his wife that gave birth to Yuri? Could he blame her so much that he had forgotten her and his memories had been replaced?

Also I have thought of Mandela effect - a phenomenon in which a person forms memories of facts that did not actually occur or that occurred at a different point in time. My husband suggested that Ymir may have false memories about his child or birthing him? (Cool theory I think!) Because in the same dialogue we wants to bring Yuri back and says that he failed to birth him whole. In my opinion, those two phrases are adressed to different beings - one to a boy and a second to fingercreeper. Ymir is insane for sure, poor man. Welcome to my insane blorbos fanplace.

And also!! A big question to Jolan. If we go down, under Ymir's throne before he gives us a map, we encounter Anna there, she invaded and tries to kill us. Although I checked - at the very beginning of the quest she is already a doll. Whose doll is she? Why invading? If we tell Jolan about her sister, she says that she "understood everything" but "still has one star and His words..." - okay, I got it, it's about Ymir, but girl what did you understand, PLEASE SHARE.

Also if we encounter Anna and go under Cathedral before Ymir asks to do it, he will ask if we saw a weird creature down there. He knows everything. He wants us to find Metyr. Who does Anna serve? Why Jolan calls our actions heresy (no I actually can understand Why, but without context of Ymir)?

[acmeangel]

I think about this dialogue from S1 all the time; to me, it succinctly sums up the differences between Erwin and Levi’s perspectives and motivations.

When it comes to Erwin, it’s much like what Armin said in S1: the people who are capable of making change have to be able to throw everything away and abandon their personal humanity in order to save the greater humanity. Erwin embodies this perfectly—he never hesitated to sacrifice the lives of others on behalf of a greater cause, and even knew how to inspire them into willingly self-sacrificing.

What was that greater cause? For Erwin, it was his dream of finding out the truth and avenging his father—it just so happened that this aligned with what was best for Paradis. If it weren’t for his own personal ambitions, I don’t believe Erwin would have had the same level of commitment or drive.

Erwin knew that all of the deaths of his soldiers and the civilians caught in the crossfire were potentially pointless (and we eventually see that catch up to him right before his death); but at the same time, he knew each death and sacrifice was a necessary step in uncovering the truth.

That’s not to say he saw no value in human life or that he was an evil person—it’s just that he saw more value in the bigger picture and the greater cause, and he didn’t have time to consider his personal humanity in that pursuit. Erwin knew that he needed people like Levi and Hange to stay alive in order to achieve this bigger picture goal since they filled in the gaps of skills he lacked himself.

This also isn’t to say Erwin is purely selfish, nor is he the only one with personal motivations—Eren was motivated by his mother’s death, Mikasa was motivated by protecting Eren, Hange was motivated by learning about Titans. The list goes on.

Levi is uniquely one of the few characters without selfish motivations and dreams (which is ironic since people view him as cold and heartless). Levi had no ulterior motives pushing him to the other side of the war, and nothing personal to gain.

He chose to follow Erwin because of that look Erwin had in his eye—the same look Armin had in his eye—hope for the future, like he could see something no one else could. Levi, simply, didn’t want to make choices he would regret, even though he openly admitted that he never truly knew or understood what the outcome of those choices would be. He believed that following Erwin’s command—and eventually choosing Armin—was the best way to do this.

Levi doesn’t view the lives of his comrades or squad members as disposable. He has a fiercely protective and loyal nature. We see this time and time again—when he adamantly tells a dying soldier that his death wasn’t in vain and that he’d made a difference, how he doesn’t ever truly forgive Annie and Reiner for the lives they took from the Scouts, and his incessant need to avenge Erwin’s death, to name a few.

To me, Erwin and Levi are somewhat of a yin and yang in this way—Erwin was willing to do everything it took to achieve his dream, no matter the sacrifice, and Levi was willing to do everything it took to make sure those sacrifices weren’t made for nothing.

Erwin had to be willing to send people to their pointless deaths; Levi had to make sure those deaths weren’t pointless in the end.

This is a little bit of a half-baked ramble, but I always found this exchange so interesting and telling.

[diorcities]

⠀   ── ★ ˚˳ ⊹ ✉️ ⁺ things you leave at their place.

someone on x mentioned about jaemin being obsessed with miffy all of a sudden and now i have to write about it cause we both think it's not his but his gf's 😭 library

next: things they leave at your place.

jaemin: stuffed animals. you were a little embarrassed to admit that you couldn't sleep comfortably because of that, but jaemin knew you; he'd visited your apartment before, of course, he's familiar with your habit; he knows what's your favorite of them all. it sleeps between you two, but sometimes you forget it at your place, so little by little his bed began to fill up with stuffed animals that he complacently buys for you, that somehow gives him company when you're away from him.

haechan: dried flowers. he's partially the reason why all the books that are not his in his apartment have petals pressed between the pages. of course, you like flowers, but what you like most is to preserve them 'cause they mean that much to you. he likes to borrow some of your books from your place, but sometimes you forget half of them have flowers still in there so every time he tries to read he finds them between the pages.

jeno: plants. his apartment slowly transform into your mini flower sanctuary because —silly you, you keep buying plants even when you don't have room for one more. you often bring them to his place claiming they need a new home; jeno's apartment apparently has greater sunlight than yours, but why does jeno feel warmer when he visits you? because it feels familiar? maybe it's because he likes you a little. or just like your flowers, he likes you a lot.

chenle: things to knit. every time his friends go to his apartment he must make up the story that he's started knitting thanks to you and your habit of leaving your knitting things in his place. telling the truth would be easier if it weren't for the fact that chenle doesn't even know what to say because, of course, friends sometimes forget things in each other's apartment all the time, but your things always tend to be forgotten in his room.

mark: perfumes. he's a sucker. he spends his time trying to smell more when the scent of your perfume dances in the air or stays impregnated on his clothes when you greet him. so much so that when you forget them on his place, he perfumes the corners of his apartment, as if he could invoke you with it. thinking that if he puts perfume on the pillows, maybe you are the one who leaves your scent when you stay overnight.

jisung: lipstick. your favorite lipsticks had started to become scarce until you discovered that they weren't lost but somehow found again at jisung's place. once you found one in the bathroom, you thought you had forgotten it when you ended up in his apartment after an outing with friends, but then, then he lent you his jacket and there was another one there. and when he kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you, and you woke up the next day in his room, you weren't so surprised anymore that there was one right next to his bed, on the bedside table.

renjun: shoes. it's not so rare. you arrive at your mutual friends' room, take off your shoes and after laughing and drinking, you end up with someone else's because you can't find yours. and then, later, after months, it starts to be a habit. you both have the same style, although he must admit that he likes yours better. and you probably think he's clueless for taking yours, when in reality he's always waiting for you to pick them up at his apartment.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 22

<<<Previous Next>>>

He fell quiet, the world narrowing to the rustle of turning pages and the faint scratch of his notes against parchment. There was something mesmerizing in the way he worked. In how focused he became, how his brow furrowed just slightly when he found a section that demanded more scrutiny, how his fingers moved with delicate precision as he turned each page like it held a fragment of some divine truth.

You watched him, chin propped lightly against your palm, and for once, you didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t the awkward kind that begged to be filled, but something comfortable, reverent. It felt like being near a storm that chose not to strike. His presence so often composed and untouchable became gentler in this light. Grounded. Endearing. 

His hair shifted slightly with every small movement, catching the glow of the enchanted lamp at his desk. Starlight danced along the waves of midnight and moonlight, flowing like ink spilled across constellations.

He didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered, too focused on his task to catch the softness settling behind your eyes. There was nothing grand about this moment. Just parchment and ink and quiet, and the realization that you could spend hours like this watching him, not saying a word, and still feeling like you were part of something meaningful. His quill paused.

His gaze flicked up, meeting yours. “You’re staring.”

 Your face warmed instantly. “No, I’m… I was just-” You floundered, words tumbling like pebbles down a slope.

 A quiet smirk curved his lips. “Observational curiosity, I presume?” 

You huffed, flustered but smiling anyway. “Call it academic admiration.”

“Mm.” He returned to the pages. “Flattering. But I hope the admiration extends to your own work.” Your chest fluttered, light and inexplicably full. You weren’t sure if he meant the portfolio or something else entirely. 

Maybe both. You sat back a little, allowing yourself to bask in the quiet of it all, the way time slowed in this room and in the steady orbit you seemed to share around him. Eventually, the soft rustle of paper ceased. Shadow Milk Cookie set down the final page with a quiet deliberateness, fingers lingering on the edge of your portfolio as if giving it a final, silent blessing before speaking. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable but not cold. Never cold. 

You sat up straighter, nerves prickling beneath your skin. "Well?" you asked, voice carefully even. "Don’t spare me, okay? Be brutally honest. I can take it." 

He folded his hands atop the desk, gaze steady and golden, gleaming faintly like the light of truth itself. “You ask for brutal honesty,” he began, “but I will offer you something more valuable measured honesty.”

 You blinked. “That sounds… more terrifying.” 

He smiled, just slightly. “Then allow me to terrify you.”

He glanced down once more, fingers brushing lightly over the tabbed sections Chai Latte had helped label. “Your structure is solid. Cohesive. The personal statement could use refinement in tone…there are moments where your humility dilutes the clarity of your accomplishments.” 

You opened your mouth, but he raised a hand. “However,” he continued, “the content is sincere. And sincerity, when coupled with evident growth, speaks louder than polished eloquence.” 

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “So… it’s not bad?”

“It is more than not bad,” he said, voice quiet, unwavering. “It is a compelling portrait of a scholar on the cusp of becoming something greater. It is rough around the edges, yes but it breathes. And that, more than anything, is worth reading.” 

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders easing without realizing they had tensed. He leaned forward just a little, and his voice softened. “If I were reviewing this without knowing you, I would remember it.” Your heart skipped. “And because I do know you,” he added, “I am proud.”

 That stopped your breath in your throat. Proud. The word echoed through you, knocking loose something quiet and warm that had been nesting beneath your ribs for days now. You tried to speak, but all that came out was a shaky, “Oh.” Shadow Milk Cookie offered you one of his rare, gentler smiles fleeting, but enough to light every star-threaded strand of his hair. “Would you like help polishing the final sections before submission?” 

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yes. Please.”

He reached for his quill again, already turning to the feedback notes he’d jotted in the margins. But before he lowered his gaze, he said, almost as an afterthought. “I meant every word.” 

You clutched the portfolio to your chest, cheeks aching from how wide your grin had gotten. “This is such good news,” you laughed, breathless from relief. “I could kiss you.” It slipped out, soft and stunned, not something you meant literally but as soon as it left your mouth, your soul left your body. 

You froze. Across the desk, Shadow Milk Cookie paused. Very slowly, he lifted his head, gaze gliding over the rim of his monocle as if he were trying to determine whether he’d actually heard you right or if he simply wanted to hear it again. You opened your mouth likely to make it worse. “I mean-I wasn’t saying-I just meant like…like, thank you-like that! Not-” He tilted his head, and his expression was far too composed.

 “So,” he said, voice smooth as starlight, “that’s the reward system I’ve been missing out on.” 

Your brain stalled. “What?”

“A kiss,” he repeated calmly. “Apparently, all I needed to do to earn one was tell you your writing was competent.” 

“Competent?” you gasped, scandalized, flustered, mortified. He was teasing you. You knew he was. His mouth was twitching at the corners now, barely hiding a smile but his tone was so matter-of-fact, so utterly in-character, it only flustered you further. 

You groaned, pressing the binder against your face. “Please pretend I said nothing.”

“I could,” he said, tapping a finger lightly against the desk. “But then I’d have to pretend you don’t find me kissable.” 

You choked. “I never said-!”

“I’m merely finishing the logic you began,” he said, the picture of scholarly innocence. You narrowed your eyes over the edge of your binder. 

“You're impossible.” 

He offered the barest of shrugs, a curl of amusement in his voice. “And yet you keep returning.” 

You let out a dramatic, strangled sigh, dragging your hands down your face. “Why are you like this?”

 Shadow Milk Cookie looked over his notes, completely unbothered. “Because if I weren’t, you might actually follow through on your impulse,” he said softly.

 Your thoughts promptly disintegrated into cosmic dust. He didn’t look up this time. Just smiled faintly to himself and turned another page. He continued speaking. He had that thoughtful tone again, half analysis, half affection as he began, “If I were to offer formal feedback, I’d say your articulation of the second research objective could benefit from stronger-”

You kissed him. You didn’t think about it. You didn’t weigh the pros and cons. There was no grand swell of music or preamble or poetic metaphor to excuse it. You just leaned forward, hand still braced on the edge of his desk, breath uneven from the nerves coiled like vines around your ribs and kissed him, right in the middle of his sentence. It was quick. A press of your lips to his awkward and sudden, nothing rehearsed or careful.  A breathless punctuation mark in the shape of a kiss.

And then you pulled back. Fast. Like touching him had been a dare you barely managed to complete. Like the moment itself would collapse in on you if you stayed too long. Shadow Milk Cookie had gone perfectly still. His sentence, whatever it had been hung in the air, unfinished. 

You stared at him, heat roaring in your ears, lips still tingling with the realization of what you’d just done. “…Sorry,” you blurted, because what else could you say?

He blinked once. Slowly. His lips, slightly parted from where your kiss had interrupted him, closed with maddening calm. Then he tilted his head. “Should I assume,” he said, voice soft with dangerous amusement, “that your research statement is no longer the most urgent topic on your mind?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Please forget that happened.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t, even if I wished to.” He leaned back in his chair, gold eyes catching the light in a way that made your stomach flip. “But I don’t wish to.” 

You stared at him. “You’re unbearable.”

“However,” he murmured, his voice impossibly gentle, “you kissed me.” 

Your face burned. “I was trying to prove a point!” 

He smiled now fully, clearly, devastatingly. “Then perhaps,” he said, “you ought to clarify what the point was.” 

You sank lower in your chair. “I hate you.” But your lips betrayed you with a smile. And his eyes held something far more honest than teasing. Something that looked suspiciously like wonder. He didn’t say anything else after that. Not right away. But the air between you had shifted. And from the way his eyes kept lingering on your face, you knew he’d be replaying that kiss for a very, very long time. You practically shoved the binder back toward him, face burning, voice a little too high and far too rushed.

“Just write it down, okay? Whatever needs fixing. Please.” You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not after that. The kiss had been impulsive, stupid, so very you half-born from flustered panic, half-born from the desire to wipe that smug little knowing smile off his face. And now? Now you wanted to melt through the floor.

 There was a quiet pause, and then the familiar sound of his quill scratching across paper. You clutched at the edge of your seat like it would anchor you in time, praying he wouldn’t say anything not yet, not while your heart was still trying to climb out of your chest and run screaming into the sea. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. “You kissed me mid-sentence,” he said, voice maddeningly composed. “How… bold of you.”

You groaned into your hands. “Please stop talking.”

“You requested a written response,” he murmured, clearly amused. “I am merely honoring your wishes.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I am certainly… intrigued.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers. He was still writing, serene as ever but the corners of his mouth were twitching, and there was the faintest, faintest flush dusting his cheekbones. He wasn’t entirely unruffled. That was something.

 “You didn’t even finish your thought,” you muttered. 

“No,” he agreed, dipping his quill again, “but I find I’m rather fond of how you chose to interrupt me.” 

You dropped your forehead to the desk with a soft thunk. “I hate you.”

“That,” he said, setting the quill aside and finally looking at you, golden eye far too warm, “is objectively untrue.” 

And then he slid the notes back toward you, meticulously annotated, sectioned off with clear, neat revisions. But his hand lingered for just a moment close, not quite touching yours. “…You don’t have to rush to say anything,” he added, quieter this time. “But I’ll always listen. Whenever you're ready.” 

You nodded, throat tight, fingers curling over the marked-up pages. You weren’t ready to speak again. But he’d given you something better…time. And that, from him, was everything. You exhaled sharply, half-laugh, half-groan, as you clutched your binder to your chest like it might stop your heart from sprinting straight out of your ribcage.

“If I ever betray you one day,” you said, tilting your head with mock gravity, “it’ll be because of this. Right here. This exact moment.” 

He raised a brow, setting his quill aside, fingers lacing together over his desk in that composed, scholarly way that only made everything worse. “Oh?” he mused. “And what, precisely, have I done to earn such a fate?”

 You gestured vaguely toward him. “That. All of… this. The way you talk. The way you look at me like I’m the most fascinating equation in the world. It’s not fair.” 

His gaze shimmered like light on the rim of a teacup refined, precise, unshaken. “You find it unfair to be studied with care?”

“I find it dangerous,” you said. “You should come with a warning label. May cause emotional whiplash.” 

He huffed a quiet breath of amusement. “I could say the same about you.” You opened your mouth. Closed it again. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Turn the tables. Be infuriatingly charming. Make me forget what I was saying.” You sighed, folding your arms over the binder now. “If one day I turn on you, you’ll know why.” 

A pause. “I’ll consider it an honor,” he said, voice low, half-laced with mischief. “To be remembered at all… even in betrayal.” 

You blinked, the smile faltering for half a second. There was something there. Something just beneath the velvet edge of his words fleeting, unspoken, too sincere to call out. But he didn’t give it time to linger. With a quiet hum, he picked up your portfolio again, flipping to the next page. “In the meantime,” he said, “your transitions are strong, but your closing paragraph needs work.” You blinked again, stunned by the sudden shift. “…You’re the worst,” you muttered, cheeks warm.

“I’m thorough,” he corrected. 

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward slightly. “Same difference.” But as his eyes skimmed the page steady, patient, entirely focused on your work you couldn’t help but wonder. Would he still remember this moment, too? Even if one day… you were gone. You dragged your chair next to him and leaned on his shoulder…he didn’t seem startled by the weight of your head against his shoulder if anything, he stilled for a moment, as if to make room for it. Like this quiet leaning in was something fragile, and sacred. Then he simply adjusted, as he always did around you, and continued reading.

 “Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, your voice softened by proximity and the quiet security of the moment. “Okay. I get it. I’m a dramatic underseller.”

“You said it, not I,” he replied, but there was a smile in his voice. A faint, amused lilt that vibrated gently where your temple rested against him. You didn’t bother to lift your head. You just watched his hand move across the page, long fingers gliding effortlessly between lines, underlining a sentence here, circling a phrase there. You could feel the minute shifts in his posture, the subtle cadence of his breath steady, quiet, certain. It was the kind of certainty you rarely felt in yourself, but always found in him.

 You’d lost count of how many times he had guided you through theories and tangled footnotes. But this? This was different. Not because of what he was saying but because of where you were. Who you were to each other now. Not just tutor and student. Not just two paths crossing by fate or chance. “I do mean it,” he said suddenly, voice low as he circled another section in your research outline.

 “This is good. Very good.” You closed your eyes for a beat, soaking in the sound of his approval like warmth beneath your skin. “Even with the metaphors?” you asked, cracking one eye open. “I know I got carried away.” 

He hummed. “You’ve always been a little excessive. But the right kind of excessive.”

You laughed quietly, your breath brushing the fabric of his robes. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.” 

He turned a page, slow and unhurried. “It was meant as such.” The silence that followed was the kind you’d grown to love with him. Thoughtful. Comfortable. A shared space where nothing had to be explained. And so, you let your eyes close again, letting the steady movement of his hands and the soft scratch of quill on parchment lull you into something calm. If the world stopped here if it never moved past this moment you thought you’d be alright. You slumped against his shoulder with a quiet breath, no more than a whisper of movement as your weight settled into his side. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You never did. But there was something about the way he read each word deliberate, as though even the air bent to listen that made your eyes heavy. That made time slow. 

That made it easy to let go. Shadow Milk Cookie stilled the moment he felt you yield to sleep. The pen in his hand hovered mid-mark above the parchment, its ink trembling slightly at the tip before blotting into the page, forgotten.

He looked at you. Not a glance. Not a fleeting moment of curiosity. He looked like someone who had spent centuries collecting fragments of truth, only to find something unbearably precious in the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes brushed your skin, the way your lips parted in rest. “…You shouldn’t do this,” he murmured. Not to you. To himself. His voice cracked in the quiet.

“You shouldn’t give me this,” he said, so softly the words barely escaped his chest. “Not when I will keep it long after you're gone.” He reached up, hesitating, then brushed a knuckle down your temple, slow and reverent. You didn’t stir. 

“I could name a hundred constellations,” he whispered, “but none would chart what you’ve done to me.” The words tasted like grief. Like longing not yet allowed to take root. He tilted his head back against the chair, eyes drifting upward to the ceiling as though the heavens might grant him mercy. 

They didn’t.

“I was not made for this,” he said. “Not for something fragile. Not for something fleeting.” And yet here you were, cradled against him like a promise he never dared to make. He laughed, quietly bitter and broken all at once. “I will spend lifetimes dissecting truth. Defining it. Proving it. But you...”

 His hand, still near your cheek, curled into a fist and dropped to his lap. “You make me wish I could lie.” A beat of silence. 

Then his voice lowered, “You make me wish I was mortal.” He turned his face, pressing his lips to your hair, the motion so subtle it could have been the breath of a breeze. But it wasn’t. It was desperation. It was devotion. It was the cruel truth of someone who would never forget what it was to be held by someone who could.

“You’ll forget this moment,” he whispered. “But I won’t.” 

His eyes shut. “I will never stop remembering.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t wake you. Even when the golden light of afternoon began to fade into the mellow hues of dusk, even when the lanterns of the Scholar’s Wing flickered to life one by one and bathed the room in quiet, scholarly warmth he simply let you sleep. You didn’t stir. Not once. Not when he shifted beneath you, not when he reached for another sheet of parchment, not even when his hand brushed past yours to pull your portfolio a little closer. It went against his better judgment. He knew that. But tonight, he allowed something else to win. Truth was not always cold and rigid. Truth, at times, could be kindness. Could be mercy.

And this was no lie. With careful fingers, he turned the pages you’d agonized over, his eyes scanning each section with a focus sharpened by years of discipline. Your notes were scribbled in the margins, questions jotted hastily and underlined twice. There were moments where you’d second-guessed yourself and tried again, and again, and again. Shadow Milk Cookie studied each line with quiet reverence, as though your ambition itself had been woven into the ink.

 You deserved the best chance. And if that meant he set aside his title for an evening not as the Sage of Truth, not even as the Fount of Knowledge but simply as Shadow Milk, then so be it. He dipped his quill. One by one, the revisions began. Not rewritten…no never rewritten. He respected you too much for that. But refined, clarified, strengthened with the kind of insight only someone who had shaped knowledge itself could offer.

He didn’t leave notes for you to fix later. He made the changes. Clean, efficient strokes of truth and logic, slipping seamlessly into the work you’d already built with trembling hands and sleepless nights. He worked until the final sentence had been trimmed to its most perfect version, until the last page was immaculate. Only then did he glance toward the tall arched window. Dinner would be soon no doubt. He looked down at you again. Your head still rested against his shoulder, your brow soft and your breathing even. You looked peaceful. He didn’t dare move. So instead, he folded his hands over the closed portfolio, now complete. A quiet smile touched his lips. Tired. Small. But real.

“This,” he whispered, barely audible, “isn’t dishonesty.” His fingers hovered above yours for a moment. “It’s devotion.” 

You stirred slowly, breath catching as your eyes blinked open to the soft gold of late afternoon filtering through the high windows. The scent of aged parchment and ink lingered in the air, as grounding as the voice that greeted you before your thoughts fully formed. “You’re awake.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was soft, low, and just a touch amused. You groaned and pushed yourself up, blinking at the feel of his shoulder still beneath you. “Wait did I fall asleep on you?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He glanced down at you, expression unreadable but unmistakably fond. “You did.”

You squinted, rubbing at your eyes. “How long?”

“Long enough for the sun to drift lower,” he said calmly. “Not quite dinner. Your friends will likely start wondering soon.” 

You groaned again, dragging a hand through your hair. “Great. That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“Not at all,” he said dryly. You glanced at him, catching the slight curve at the corner of his lips. 

“Did I… drool?” There was a pause, which he seemed to draw out on purpose before answering, “Only slightly.”

You gaped. “You’re joking.”

“I am.” You exhaled, clutching your chest. “You can’t do that to me, Shadow Milk. I just woke up. My soul hasn’t returned to my body yet.” 

He gave the faintest smile. “It would explain why you’ve yet to ask about your portfolio.” You blinked, only now noticing the organized stack of parchment laid neatly on the desk beside him your handwriting scattered among his. “…Wait. You revised it?” you asked, straightening. “While I was asleep?”

He nodded. “There wasn’t much left to fix, but I added the necessary polish. Your content was strong. It simply needed better flow.” You stared at him, lips parting. “You did that for me?”

“Yes.” His gaze was steady. “And I also wrote your letter of recommendation.” Your breath hitched. “You what?”

“I had the time. And the reason.” His voice lowered just slightly. “You deserved it.” 

You blinked hard, processing. “Shadow Milk,” you started, then stopped, then rubbed your face again. “I’m going to cry. That’s illegal.”

“It is not,” he said mildly. “But I understand the impulse.”

“You did all that while I was unconscious on your shoulder,” you said, mouth twitching at the sheer absurdity. “Unbelievable.”

“I did.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that level of kindness?” you asked, squinting at him.

“You could turn in your portfolio,” he replied, ever composed. “Preferably before the deadline.”

You laughed, soft and disbelieving. “You are something else.

” He tilted his head. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes,” you sighed, standing and stretching, “and a warning. You’re making it really hard not to fall in love with you all over again.” A beat of silence.

“So I’ve made it difficult.” You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet honesty in his tone. But before you could respond, he stood as well, smoothing his robes. “I’ll walk you to the dining halls,” he said. “Your friends are likely wondering if you’ve been abducted by ancient scrolls.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” you murmured, tucking the revised portfolio under your arm. Shadow Milk Cookie opened the door for you, his shoulder brushing yours lightly as you passed. And as you stepped into the quiet corridor, late sunlight spilling through the tall windows, you couldn’t help but smile. He had let you rest. And in the meantime, he had lifted your burdens not out of obligation, but out of care. Something about that felt more valuable than any letter.

The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were quieter now, draped in the hush of late afternoon and streaked with the golden fingers of light filtering through stained glass. You walked beside him, your revised portfolio tucked securely beneath your arm, your shoulder brushing his every few steps just enough to remind you he was still there. 

You both said little. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt charged with something else, something that hummed between you like a secret shared only in glances and breath. The warmth of what he’d done for you still lingered.

Not just the revisions, not just the letter. But the way he had let you rest. The way he had carried your work when you could not. That quiet, tender devotion lingered in the air between you now like static, crackling beneath your skin. You wanted to reach out for his hand. You could feel the urge in your fingertips aching, light, almost foolish.

 But your hand stayed curled at your side, brushing occasionally against the fabric of your robes. You didn’t reach for him. You couldn’t. Because the halls, though quiet, weren’t empty. And even if they had been, he wasn’t just anyone. He was the Sage of Truth. Or rather the Fount of Knowledge. His name carried weight. His presence turned heads.

To be seen touching him, reaching for him in a way that said he’s mine… It would only invite eyes, rumors, and worse. So you kept walking. Your fingers brushed his once as your steps aligned, a fleeting moment. It could’ve been an accident. Maybe it was. But he didn’t pull away. And when you glanced up at him, his expression remained composed but his gaze was softer than usual. Gentler.

“I’m glad you let me read it,” he said quietly, his voice like velvet in the quiet corridor. “Even if it meant I had to watch you sleep over your own words.” 

You rolled your eyes, but it was half-hearted at best. “You could’ve just let me nap the day away.” 

He glanced sideways, the faintest glimmer of something playful in his eyes. “I considered it. But then I remembered how particular your friends are about timely reunions.”

You snorted. “You make it sound like I have a curfew.”

“You do. It’s called Chai Latte Cookie.” That made you laugh soft, surprised, warm. The sound echoed gently against the tall stone walls. As you exited the Scholar’s Wing and the scent of parchment and candlelight gave way to the gentle aroma of roasted herbs and hearth-baked bread drifting from the dining hall, you hesitated again. 

You wanted to hold his hand. But instead, you said, “Thanks. For today. Really.” 

He looked at you, and there was something in his eyes then something unreadable, but not unkind. “You’re welcome,” he said. “For every day like it.” 

And though your hand never touched his, though your fingers never found the courage, the air between you shimmered with the closeness of almost.

And for now, almost was enough. You lingered just before the threshold of the dining hall, the warm scent of supper curling out into the corridor, mixing with the golden hush of late afternoon. The light caught in his hair as he slowed to a stop beside you, casting him in a glow so unreal it made your heart skip. You looked up at him, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Would you… join us?” you asked, voice soft, not wanting to press. “Or do you have other matters to attend to?”

There was a beat of silence, not the heavy kind, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. The way he always paused before answering, as if even your simplest questions deserved consideration. His gaze, when it met yours, was calm. Unreadable to most but not to you. Not anymore. Well no that was a lie…but sometimes you could decipher him. There was warmth in it, threaded carefully behind his usual composure. 

“I do have matters,” he said, his tone gentle, almost regretful. “But none so urgent they cannot wait… a little longer.” Your heart gave a small, unbidden lurch. He inclined his head slightly, as though that settled it. “If I’m invited, I will accompany you.” 

You blinked. “Of course you’re invited,” you said quickly, heat rushing to your face despite your best efforts. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“Then lead the way.”

And just like that, you stepped into the dining hall together, the low murmur of conversation and the familiar clatter of trays washing over you. You didn’t reach for him. But you walked close enough that your sleeve brushed his once more, and this time, he didn’t just let it pass. He leaned ever so slightly toward you subtle, invisible to anyone else but it was enough. It was more than enough.

You both moved through the dining hall in tandem his presence quiet and commanding beside you, yours a quiet hum of nerves beneath your skin. You tried not to think too hard about how it looked, how close you walked, how your tray nearly clinked into his when you reached for the same serving spoon. He said nothing about it, only glanced at you briefly.

You spotted your friends before he did same table, same spot near the windows, light pooling over Chai Latte Cookie’s curls like a halo. She saw you instantly. And when she saw him walking beside you? Her entire face lit up like a lantern. You wanted to melt. But she bless her didn’t say a word. Not even a squeal. She simply adjusted in her seat, a graceful shift to make room for you both without comment. 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised his brows at the two trays. Earl Grey Cookie looked over the rim of his cup, subtle as ever. But neither of them spoke. Not a single teasing remark. Not a smirk. Not a knowing glance. Not even a nudge. Just calm, measured silence as you both approached the table. It was… disarming.

You sat down beside Chai Latte, Shadow Milk taking the open space on your other side. It was a squeeze, maybe more than necessary, but no one pointed it out. Not even Chai, though you felt her energy radiating beside you like a bubbling kettle, barely restrained joy threatening to whistle through her teeth. Still, she just smiled. “Didn’t expect you both to be back so soon,” she said lightly, sipping her tea. “We were just talking about the paper due for Comparative Theory.”

“We were talking about how none of us have started it,” Hazelnut corrected, already halfway through his roll. 

Earl Grey Cookie gave a noncommittal hum. “Some of us started. Some of us intend to coast on instinct and charm.” Hazelnut biscotti flashed him a grin. “You say that like it’s not a viable strategy.” Shadow Milk said nothing, only reached for his utensils in a practiced motion perfectly composed, perfectly at ease. But his presence beside you felt like something settled, something new and deeply unspoken. And not once did your friends break their promise. You tried not to smile. Really, you did.

But when your elbow bumped gently into his by accident and he didn’t move away your grin betrayed you. Chai Latte caught it. And instead of teasing, she simply reached for the sugar jar, poured a delicate spoonful into her cup, and stirred slowly, dreamily. “I’m really glad,” she murmured under her breath. Not to him. Not to anyone in particular. Just to you. Only to you.

And you didn’t say it, but your smile told her everything she needed to know. You cleared your throat, desperate to say something, anything, before the tension could grow legs and start pacing around the table. The heat in your cheeks refused to die down, and you could feel the way Earl Grey’s eyes watched you without watching you, the way Chai Latte Cookie was frozen mid-sip, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie well, he was never subtle to begin with. So you did what you always did when the moment got too heavy. You leaned back, fork in hand, and said, “You know, I’ve heard a rumor.” Hazelnut’s ears perked. “Oh?” 

“Apparently,” you said, spearing a grape like it had personally offended you, “they’re going to start serving pineapple ice cream in the dining halls.” 

Chai Latte blinked. “Pineapple… ice cream?” You nodded solemnly, barely hiding your grin. “Mm-hmm. Creamy. Tart. Fruity. Forbidden.”

Earl Grey, deadpan as ever, stirred his tea. “That sounds like something they’d invent during a failed culinary alchemy lecture.”

Hazelnut biscotti lit up. “I’d try it.”

“Of course you would,” Chai muttered, elbowing him. “You once ate an entire cup of jelly made from fluorescent fungi.” 

“You dared me,” Hazelnut Biscotti pointed out proudly. You grinned. “Anyway, when pineapple ice cream does arrive, I expect full honors and the ceremonial first scoop.” 

“I’ll get you a gold spoon,” Chai Latte said with a giggle. “I’ll forge it myself,” Hazelnut biscotti added. “Please don’t,” Earl Grey said blandly. “The last time you tried to forge anything, it exploded.”

“I learned a lot from that explosion!”

“You learned how to set the bell tower on fire,” Chai said. You smiled into your cup, tension ebbing away with the laughter that followed. Across from you, the air felt light again familiar. Safe. Just you and your friends around a table like always. And beside you, you felt the smallest shift Shadow Milk Cookie’s elbow brushing yours, subtle, like a question he didn’t ask aloud. When you turned your head to look at him, he wasn’t smiling. But the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. 

You hadn’t fixed the heaviness in his heart. Not entirely. But you’d made him laugh earlier. And maybe pineapple ice cream could do the rest. You shifted slightly in your seat, laughing at something Hazelnut muttered under his breath about pineapple sorcery and golden spoons. Your hand brushed against Shadow Milk Cookie’s beneath the table an accident at first.

Or maybe not. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to. You could feel the quiet hum of his presence, the way he’d gone still beside you in that careful, composed way of his as if he knew the question lingering at your fingertips before you asked it. So you asked it, in your own way.

Your fingers, slow and deliberate, found his beneath the table. You tugged, just slightly, like a secret shared in silence. And he let you. His hand shifted, threading carefully through yours, palm warm, fingers long and elegant. It was subtle. Safe. Hidden by the edge of the table and the noise of your friends. No one would notice not if you both stayed still, not if you kept smiling, not if Chai kept raving about pineapple poetry for you and Hazelnut kept threatening to steal the head chef’s spice rack.

You dared a glance his way, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was still facing forward, the picture of calm shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable save for the smallest pull of a smile at the corner of his lips.

You might’ve missed it if you didn’t know him like this. If you hadn’t spent so long watching that expression shift between lines of truth and moments of quiet. Your fingers curled around his just a little tighter. It would be fine, you told yourself. Just this. Just now.

No one had to know. You leaned back just slightly in your chair, hand still curled into Shadow Milk Cookie’s beneath the table, the soft pressure of his palm grounding you in a way none of your friends could see.

The conversation had turned chaotic again Hazelnut claiming he could create the perfect pineapple-chili gelato, Chai Latte insisting the world wasn’t ready for that kind of culinary catastrophe, and Earl Grey, ever neutral, musing aloud about the chemistry of it all like a scientist caught between philosophers.

You smiled to yourself before squeezing his hand lightly against. He turned his head slightly, and though he didn’t look directly at you, you knew he was listening. You tilted your voice lower, casual, as though it were just a passing thought. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

There was a pause. A breath. “Ice cream?” he repeated, his tone soft, almost amused. 

You nodded, trying not to grin. “Yes, ice cream. Surely even the Sage of Truth must have a weakness.” 

Hazelnut biscotti caught wind of your question and perked up. “Wait…oh, now this I gotta hear. Don’t let him dodge it…”

“He will try,” Chai chimed in, resting her chin in her hand and turning toward him expectantly. “Come on, enlighten us, Fount of Frozen Preferences.” 

Earl Grey stirred his tea calmly. “He’s going to say something obscure, like wildflower-and-moonstone swirl.”

“I think it’ll be something unexpected,” you murmured. Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips curled, just slightly. “You assume I partake often enough to have a favorite.”

“That’s not an answer,” you teased. Another quiet moment passed. “…Honey lavender.” Chai gasped. “That’s so specific.”

“And delicate,” Earl Grey added with a half-smile. “Fitting.”

“It’s floral,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand beneath the table. “Like… soft things you don’t expect from someone like you.” 

He didn’t speak, not right away. But his gaze flickered to you, and his fingers tightened just slightly around yours. “It reminds me of something,” he said, voice so low it nearly drowned beneath the sound of laughter around you.

You tilted your head. “What’s that?” He hesitated. Then, with the smallest smile, he said, “Moments like this.” You blinked, heart skipping just a bit, the noise of the dining hall suddenly distant. 

“Gods,” Hazelnut groaned, throwing his head back dramatically, “even his ice cream preferences are poetic.” 

Chai Latte nudged you with her foot under the table. “You hear that?” she whispered, voice full of amusement. “Honey lavender. That’s romantic-coded.” You bit your lip, face warming.

Shadow Milk Cookie just returned to his tea, but the faintest blush traced his cheekbones. You didn’t say anything else, only let your thumb brush over his knuckles beneath the table as you leaned into the conversation once more. 

Dinner eventually came to a close, the soft clatter of trays and the hum of conversation thinning as students filtered out into the amber-lit corridors of the Academy. You were still lingering, the last bite of dessert melting on your tongue as Chai Latte Cookie pushed her chair back with exaggerated effort.

“Ugh, I forgot we still have to finish that tactical report,” she groaned, stretching her arms above her head. “The one for the Labyrinth Tactician. The really boring one.”

Earl Grey Cookie stood more gracefully, already collecting their empty cups. “I wouldn’t call it boring. Just long. And unnecessarily philosophical.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned as he wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’ve procrastinated so well. I’m proud of us.” 

Chai snorted. “No pride, just panic. Come on, we’ll meet in my dorm again.” Hazelnut Biscotti blinked. “Wait, now?” 

Chai leaned down, patting your shoulder. “Mhm. Sorry, we’d drag you into it, but you’re not in that class. Be thankful.” 

Earl Grey gave you a subtle look. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You nodded, trying not to feel the sudden shift in energy. “Yeah. Definitely.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti smirked as he passed by. “Don’t have too much fun without us.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only a little.”

And with that, the three of them disappeared into the evening crowd, their voices fading into the echo of footsteps and magical lantern light. You turned back to your table, suddenly very aware of the quiet. It was just you and Shadow Milk Cookie now. He hadn’t moved, still seated beside you, hands folded gently over the table’s edge. The soft golden glow above cast subtle light across his face, outlining the elegant line of his jaw, the slight shimmer in his eyes, the calm composure he wore so naturally. It should’ve felt strange being left alone like this after the warmth and chaos of dinner but it didn’t. It felt… steady.

 Like a chapter you hadn’t realized you’d been reading toward. He glanced at you, not speaking at first, and yet the silence between you felt full rather than empty. Something lived in it a kind of understanding that didn’t need words to bloom. You shifted slightly, tucking your hands into your lap to stop yourself from reaching for his again. “Guess it’s just us now.” He inclined his head. “So it seems.” A pause.

Then, quietly he asked “Would you like to take a walk?” Your heart fluttered in that quiet, fluttery way it did whenever he looked at you like that like you weren’t just another fleeting moment in his long life, but something he wanted to linger in. Even just a little longer.

“…Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.” You exhaled slowly, watching as a breeze stirred the willow leaves above. The sky had deepened into a soft lavender now, streaked with the last gold threads of sunset. Everything felt quiet here softened, like the garden knew not to intrude. Your hand found his again. Fingers sliding between his with a certainty you hadn’t known you possessed. 

“I don’t know when it started,” you said, voice quiet, almost reverent. “This feeling. Whatever this is.” You gave a shaky laugh, the kind you only ever let yourself have around him soft, uncertain, sincere. “But I think I’ve felt it longer than I realized. And I’m glad… that we’re in this together.”

You didn’t look at him. Not yet. The words still trembled in your throat. “I know it’s different for you. That time doesn’t weigh the same.” 

You turned your hand, pressing your palm to his. “But even if I’m only a blink in your story… I’d rather be that than nothing at all.” And then maybe it was foolishness, or maybe it was something braver than that you pulled him in and kissed his cheek. Not for show. Not in jest. Just a quiet, devoted press of lips to skin. 

He stilled. Not like he was caught off guard, but like the world itself had paused to listen. You drew back slowly, barely able to meet his eyes now that the moment had passed. You weren’t usually so bold. But tonight, something inside you had needed him to know. “That’s all I’ve got,” you whispered.

“A small, mortal life. But I want to live it… loving you.” His fingers curled around yours tight, trembling, anchored. And when he turned to face you, the look in his eyes wasn’t unreadable anymore.

It was everything. Shadow Milk Cookie turned toward you slowly, as if moved by some ancient tide. The light from the reflecting pool shimmered faintly across his features, the soft glow making him look almost otherworldly like something carved from the stars, long before your time, long before your world had even begun. 

But in this moment, he looked only at you. And for once, his gaze wasn’t composed, wasn’t quiet, wasn’t distant. It was bare. He lifted his free hand the one not already holding yours and rested it gently against your cheek.

His thumb brushed just below your eye, reverent. “You are,” he said, voice soft, “the one thing I did not expect.” You blinked, heart rising painfully in your throat.

“I will see centuries pass,” he continued, his words unhurried. “I will watch stars burn out, kingdoms fall, and knowledge rewrite itself again and again. I have known truths that outlive their meaning… and still” he leaned in, forehead nearly brushing yours, “I was unprepared for you.” 

You swallowed hard, suddenly breathless. His voice dropped, barely a whisper now. “You speak of a small, mortal life, as if it is not the most precious thing I have ever been entrusted with.” 

Your chest ached. And then, quieter still “If you will give it to me… I will spend eternity remembering that it was once mine to hold.” His hand trembled slightly where it rested against your skin, and it undid you completely.

You didn’t answer him with words. You just leaned in, forehead against his, eyes closed. Your fingers curled around his like a vow. The moment folded around the two of you like twilight itself was willing to stand still. If love was a language, then this, this was fluent.

And it spoke volumes. Your voice was barely a murmur, a breath carried on the quiet wind curling through the willow branches overhead. The glowing leaves stirred faintly in the hush between you. “In another life,” you said, your gaze fixed on your joined hands, “we’re both mortal.” 

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He was listening in that way only he could fully, silently, like the world might shift if he missed a single word. “In that life,” you went on, “we get to worry about aging together. We get to argue about who forgot what in the market, or who left the books out in the rain. We grow slower, clumsier, softer. And when the end comes, it’s not this impossible divide it’s just time.”

You paused, swallowing against the weight of your own thoughts. “I think about that sometimes. Not because I wish I didn’t meet you here, but because…” You looked up at him, eyes earnest. “Because I want a future where we both have endings. The same kind. The kind we meet side by side.” 

There was no bitterness in your voice. No regret. Just truth. A soft, grim truth. Shadow Milk Cookie turned his hand in yours, fingers intertwining more securely.

His gaze, golden and quiet, searched yours with that impossible depth that always left you a little breathless. “I have imagined every possibility,” he said at last, voice low and sure. “Every world where I never met you. Every future where I did, but you looked through me. Every fate where we missed each other by inches.”

He exhaled, like it ached to say.

“This one where you live, here, and choose me despite it all this is the one I treasure.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “If I must outlive you, then let it be with the memory of this. Of you, choosing to love me even knowing the cost.” 

You closed your eyes, letting the moment settle like falling starlight. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And sometimes, real was enough. Under the soft shimmer of the Academy Gardens, where the willows whispered like secrets and the reflecting pool mirrored the stars before the sky could catch up, you stood suspended in something not quite time, not quite magic, just presence.

Just him. Just you. You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it didn’t matter. One moment, your breath hitched at the closeness, your heart pressed wild against your ribs and then his lips were on yours, and yours on his. Gentle at first. Barely there. Like neither of you could quite believe it was happening, like the truth of it needed to be tested one more time. A slow, searching thing. Then deeper. Certain. The kind of kiss that wasn’t trying to prove anything it simply was.

You were warm all over. Dizzy. His hand cradled the side of your face so carefully it nearly broke you. You leaned into it, into him, tasting every ounce of feeling he never said aloud but always, always carried.

 Your hands curled in the fabric of his coat. His breath stuttered just a little when your nose brushed his. You both pulled back at the same time, foreheads still pressed together, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. You were both grinning. Foolishly. Breathlessly. Unapologetically. “I’m glad it’s you,” you whispered. His voice, quiet and impossibly tender, barely made it to your ears. 

“And I, you.” The stars above seemed to pause for you. And for a long, perfect moment you let yourselves stay there.

Just two souls. Not a Sage. Not a student. Not immortal. Not mortal.

Just real.

The next week passed in a blur.

Not in chaos, not in stress but in quiet resolve. The kind born from people who had each other, who wanted things enough to work for them.

You met up with Chai Latte Cookie, Earl Grey Cookie, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie every afternoon after classes. You studied. Reviewed. Polished. Earl Grey, as promised, brought every rubric and cross-referenced every section. Chai Latte fueled you with stolen snacks and pep talks while doodling pineapples in the margins of your drafts. Hazelnut claimed he did “nothing” but was always the first to catch small errors no one else saw.

And Shadow Milk Cookie?

He never once hovered. But his presence lingered in every footnote you revised, every theory you reshaped. He’d said what he needed to say and you carried it with you.

You submitted your portfolio with your friends that following week, the deadline having been graciously extended due to “review committee backlog” a miracle Chai Latte swore she manifested with her sheer willpower alone.

And the exam the one you thought would crush you? You passed it. An 86. Not perfect. Not a miracle. But something more honest. Something that said; you made it. Because of effort. Because of care. Because someone, no someones believed you could.

And as you stepped out of the submission hall that day, arms full of papers and hearts full of relief, you looked at your friends. And you smiled. You had made it. And this this strange, beautiful moment was only the beginning.

You sat on the stone steps just outside the Hall of Records, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. A soft breeze carried the scent of parchment and spring blossoms freshly graded exam scrolls in hand, your little group had gathered with bated breath and varying levels of smugness.

Chai Latte Cookie had been the first to announce hers. “Eighty-nine!” she beamed, practically glowing as she held her scroll high. “Okay, not bad, right? Not the highest, but I will absolutely take it.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was next, already smirking before he even unrolled his. “Ninety,” he declared, wiggling his eyebrows. “Suck it, margins.” 

Chai snorted. “Oh, come on, one point?”

“A victory is a victory.”

Earl Grey Cookie took his time, of course. Unrolling his scroll like it was the most natural thing in the world. He read it once, blinked slowly, and said with all the humility of someone born excellent, “Ninety-four.”

You looked down at your own scroll. Eighty-six. Not bad. Not bad at all. But still lower than all three of them. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you rolled it back up, tucking the paper between your fingers before anyone asked. Too late. “What’d you get?” Chai asked, already leaning toward you with a hopeful smile. 

You held up the scroll, just slightly. “Eighty-six.” There was a pause brief, almost imperceptible. Then Chai gasped like you’d told her something miraculous. 

“That’s amazing!” Hazelnut Biscotti grinned. “Hey, look at you! Up top!” 

You gave him a flat look. “I scored the lowest.”

“Yes,” Earl Grey agreed mildly, “but not by much.” 

Chai nodded, reaching over to nudge your shoulder. “Seriously. This is the best you’ve done in this class, right?” 

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“No guessing.” She leaned closer, her voice softer now. “You worked your butt off. And it paid off. We’re proud of you.” 

Hazelnut biscotti offered his hand, palm up. “Come on. High five. You earned it.” 

You smacked his hand lightly, despite yourself. Earl Grey folded his scroll neatly and glanced at you. “A score is just one measure of success,” he said. “You should be pleased with your progress.” 

You looked between them, heart quietly swelling. Not one of them treated you like you’d failed. Not one comment that made you feel small. Only warmth. Only encouragement. “Thanks,” you murmured. Chai flung an arm around your shoulders, nearly knocking the scroll from your hands. “Now. Ice cream?”

“I heard pineapple ice cream might finally be on the menu,” Hazelnut added. You groaned. “If it’s not there after all this build-up, I’m never trusting the dining hall again.” Chai grinned. “Then let’s go verify.” And as the four of you walked back toward the dining halls, laughter echoing between the walls, you held your scroll a little tighter. They had all done better than you, that didn’t mean you didn’t belong. You did. 

Sure enough, there it was nestled like a golden promise in the chilled basin of the dessert station: pineapple ice cream. You froze for a moment, barely believing it, then turned slowly to your friends with wide, reverent eyes. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “You look like you just saw the divine.”

“I did,” you breathed, already reaching for a bowl. “This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire academic career.” Chai Latte Cookie laughed behind you. “It’s barely ten in the morning.”

“And yet,” you said solemnly, scooping a mountainous heap into your bowl, “this is justice.” 

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow. “I assume this means you’ll be skipping lunch?” 

You didn’t even look up. “Lunch is dead to me.” Chai giggled. “You’re going to regret that by noon.”

“Let future me suffer. Present me is thriving.” And truly, you were. You beelined for a table, ice cream bowl balanced like a sacred artifact in your hands. It was more than anyone should reasonably eat before lunch.

Your eyes were absolutely bigger than your stomach but you didn’t care. You dug in with fervor, sighing at the first bite. Sweet. Tangy. A little too cold. Perfect. 

Hazelnut Biscotti leaned over the table, watching you with a grin. “That’s a lot of pineapple ice cream.”

“Do you want some?” you asked through a mouthful, only half-offering the bowl. 

“I value my tongue too much,” he said, waving you off even though he literally had his own bowl. What was the logic here. Earl Grey sat down with an amused shake of his head, teacup in hand as always. “You’re an enigma.”

“I contain multitudes,” you said, and took another dramatic bite. Chai reached over and plucked the spoon from your hand, stealing a taste. “Okay, okay, I admit it’s good. Still. Before lunch?”

“I’m making memories,” you mumbled. And as your friends laughed around you, as the sun filtered through the stained-glass windows in fractured gold, you smiled into your pineapple mountain. Today was a good day. A sweet one, even.

And it was only just getting started. You slumped forward in your seat, your stomach making quiet protests with every breath you dared to take. 

The bowl sat in front of you now, nearly empty, just a smear of golden cream clinging to the edges, a small spoon half-buried like a fallen flag in a battlefield of your own making. “I’m fine,” you said, with the flat tone of someone very much not fine. “This was good for me.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned her cheek into her palm, watching you with the fond exasperation of someone who had witnessed this exact scenario at least three times before. “You are visibly suffering.”

“This is the face of fulfillment,” you replied, deadpan. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “This is the face of dairy betrayal.”

“I don’t regret it,” you mumbled, both hands braced against the table like you might actually fall over. “My body just doesn’t understand joy when it happens all at once.” 

Earl Grey Cookie sipped his tea, setting it down with a quiet clink. “You’ve declared victory far too early,” he said, glancing pointedly at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even lunch. There’s still a whole day left.”

“Then I’ve peaked,” you said, eyes half-lidded with the weight of your self-inflicted sugar crash. “It’s downhill from here.” Chai poked your arm gently. “You need a walk. Or a nap. Possibly both.”

“Don’t touch me. I’m fragile.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Hazelnut offered, entirely too amused. 

You groaned. “Emotionally? Yes. Physically? I don’t think either of us would survive that.” Still, despite the fullness in your stomach and the ache blooming behind your eyes, you smiled. Warm and soft, like the pineapple ice cream hadn’t just ruined your digestive system but healed something inside you. 

“This,” you said, waving vaguely at your emptied bowl, “was absolutely good for me.” Chai rolled her eyes and reached over to flick a stray piece of napkin off your sleeve. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re enabling me.”

“And I always will.”

You leaned back in your chair with a groan, head tilting to the side to catch a glimpse of Shadow Milk Cookie across the hall, his presence unmistakable even from a distance. Quiet, composed until his eyes flicked toward yours and, just for a moment, softened. Maybe you were full. Maybe you were a little miserable. 

But you were also content. Maybe that was good for you. You waved him over with the sluggish flap of someone far too full to be moving, let alone thinking clearly. Shadow Milk Cookie noticed immediately your posture, your face, the telltale discomfort practically written in your furrowed brow.

He approached with that same measured grace, hands clasped behind his back, though his expression had just the faintest hint of concern. 

“What,” he began, eyes scanning your disheveled state, “have you done?” 

You sighed dramatically, dragging your fingers through your hair like the weight of your decisions was far too great to bear. “What am I doing out here? What are you doing out here this early?” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, they’re suffering.” Chai Latte Cookie, never one to miss an opportunity, added cheerfully, “They ate an entire bowl of pineapple ice cream before noon.”

“Two bowls,” Earl Grey Cookie corrected, not even looking up from his tea. “And half of Hazelnut’s when he wasn’t looking.” Shadow Milk’s eyes lowered slowly to the empty bowl still clutched in your trembling grasp. “Before noon,” he repeated. “They said it was good for them,” Chai said, voice full of playful betrayal. 

“Spiritually,” you mumbled. “You appear to be in the throes of an existential dessert crisis,” Shadow Milk said, tone perfectly neutral save for the very slight twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. You narrowed your eyes at your so-called companions, utterly betrayed. “I just wanted to eat in peace.”

“You made no attempt at peace,” Earl Grey murmured, sipping serenely. Shadow Milk Cookie stepped closer to the table, folding his arms as he regarded you like a scholar confronted with a case study gone mildly rogue. “And yet, you’ve survived.”

“Barely,” you said, leaning your head against the table. “This is the end of me.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti leaned in, stage-whispering to Shadow Milk, “They said that after breakfast too.” Chai Latte giggled. 

You peeked up at Shadow Milk from beneath your arms, cheeks puffed in a pout. “Are you going to scold me, too?” 

He regarded you for a long moment, his gaze slow and deliberate. “No,” he said softly. “I am simply here to observe the consequences of your freedom.” 

You groaned. “That’s worse.” But even through the dramatic misery and the shame of being called out, his presence calmed something in you. Quiet and steady like a lighthouse in your pineapple-induced storm. And when his fingers brushed lightly against your shoulder, barely there, barely noticed by anyone else… You smiled, even if you didn’t lift your head. And just like that, it didn’t feel so bad being ratted out. 

You let out a dramatic groan and buried your face in your arms again. “Okay,” you mumbled, voice muffled against the table. “I take it back. I take everything back. This was not good for me. I am suffering.”

A/N this was made partially as a thank you but also because I need everyone to be emotionally invested for future plot points <3/lh

Y'all if you ever end up in a lab make sure to wash everything with acetone and dry it...and if it still doesn't work it might not be your fault stay strong....

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[tackykachowch]

Hey guys remember that terrible letter in s2? Well, how about I tell you that it's actually worse than it seems?

Alright. For the purpose of my point being more clear I'll recite it here. *barely held in gag*

"Silco. I've looked everywhere, but it's clear that you don't want to be found. Oh, God, I'm shit at this (THEN WHY ARE YOU EVEN WRITING IT YOU STUPID IDIOT. Sorry). I'm sorry. When she died, I lost my head. I told myself that what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it. But the dirt was on both our hands. Anyway, you know where to find me. Blisters and Bedrock"

So, it is obvious that Vander regrets what he did to Silco and that he doesn't view him as a "villian of the story" anymore, so to speak. His murder attempt was purely emotional rather than motivated by ideological opposition or something else. Great.

Buuuut let's rewind to the very start of the series. Right to episode one. There. Take a look at these screenshots.

So Vander says to Benzo that there's someone on their side (the Undercity) who is worse than enforcers. Not even someONE, but someTHING. This implies quite a big level of resentment if you ask me. While he's saying that, he looks at his right hand and touches his uhh...I don't. Know how this thing's called I'm sorry. Let's call it a leather cover. There's clearly a reason why he wears it now, and this seems to be connected to the "thing" they're talking about. Alright. I guess we'll find out more about this later.

Fast forward to episode three. Heeeeey, what is THAT??

So Silco cut his hand?? Well, that all makes sense now then. Something brought Silco and Vander to a conflict, which resulted in Vander trying to kill Silco, and Silco cutting Vander's hand when he was escaping from him. For now (💀) we don't know what exactly caused such a rift between them, but it apparently was something pretty serious considering that Vander even stopped referring to Silco as a person. While he does later says to Silco that what he did to him was wrong, but nothing indicates that Vander changed his opinion on WHY he did it.

Now, there could be an argument that Silco did something that made Vander hate Silco AFTER the river scene, and this is why Vander thinks so badly of him. But earlier in the same episode we see THIS reaction from Vander when Silco appears.

So here's the question: why would Vander react like that to seeing Silco if he knew of something horrible he did post their fallout? What's more likely, he hasn't heard anything about Silco AT ALL, whether he's dead or alive or what he does. So Vander's opinion of Silco ("something worse than enforcers") formed prior to their falling out and it didn't change over time.

Now that we have all that information let's go back to our dear, favorite letter.

Uhhhh so. Vander is an incredibly awful person???? Either that, or he has an extremely severe case of amnesia. Because why would he go from wanting to reconcile with Silco and not blaming him for what happened straight into thinking that he's worse than enforcers and not even a person?? Or in his mind these things can coexist somehow?? And to add to all of that, apparently he never told Benzo the truth about their falling out, and made him think that Silco is an "animal". What, was Vander so butthurt by Silco never contacting him that he went full 5-year-old-mode "Humph!! I hate you now!!" and proceeded to lie to everyone about Silco?? So much for a reasonable and peaceful leader of the Lanes, huh.

But we all know that's not the case at all. The case is, of course, that writers forgot to rewatch season 1 and made up a reason for Vander and Silco to fight which is not at all aligns with what we knew about them and their relationship before. This is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, one of the biggest cases of negligence in storytelling that I've ever seen.

[araigmeilis]

Cerces!Anaxagoras x Reader

Note: The original Titans, Cerces and Mnestia, are romantically involved. Given that humans lose their past memories upon transformation, I'm assuming that the future Cerces and Mnestia would still have a connection or relationship, even though their human counterparts may not share the same bond.

Anaxagoras departed, leaving behind a single regret — you. Every moment you shared only deepened his longing to be closer, to hold you a little longer. Yet, he was driven by an ambition he had long sought to fulfill before the titan within him took over his body.

Every step he took to uncovering the truth of Amphoreus paled in comparison to the yearning he felt for you — a deep desire to simply be with you, even if you never knew the depth of his emotions.

One devastating revelation shattered his heart: becoming the Reason Titan, Cerces, would erase his memories, including the precious moments he shared with you. Yet, Anaxagoras chose this path, sacrificing his own memories for a greater purpose — to create a world where you could live freely, without the burdens of Amphoreus' future weighing on your shoulders.

As the new Reason Titan, Cerces, their memories were reduced to those of their fellow Titans, and their lover, Mnestia. Yet, their heart did not beat for them, and they could feel a sense of loss, a memory they could not recall. But one thing was certain — the delicate memory of your soft smile stirred something deep within them, their heart beating with a mix of pain and affection. Where had I seen that smile before?

The Titans roamed freely in the land of Amphoreus, and Cerces, in their human form, caught a sight of you praying to them. It was out of character for you to be devout, yet there was something about Cerces that stirred your emotions. At first, you found it strange to feel drawn to a Titan—an omnipotent being, and you might find yourself be interrogated by their believers.

My imagination is playing tricks on me once again. You let out a deep sigh, clutching the droma plushie tightly to your chest. The soft toy felt familiar, but you could not recall the memory of acquiring it.

As you walked away, Cerces' heart ached with unclear longing, yet they remained frozen in their place, unable to bridge the distance between the two of you. Although you were unaware of them, they could feel themself being drawn at your mere presence.

[theexaltedbride]

White Rabbit X Human Civilian Female Reader (Pt. 2) . Kidnapped!

(Also known as White Rabbit goes John Wick to save you.)

It had all started with an argument. It wasn't uncommon for you and Rabbit to argue over his methods and goals. Did he actually want to save his people or just cause trouble for DarkCom? Because he couldn't have his cake and eat it too. But he refused to hear it.

Sometimes the arguments were respectful and measured, other times they were bordering on screaming matches and you both needed to take a break from one another for a little bit.

This one was particularly nasty and even some of the Makaians who knew you were giving you space because they could see the both of you fuming, and you went on a walk to try and collect your thoughts. Thankfully you were in a lowlands where the air pressure and landscape actually kept the poison air away, and made it a suitable camp for the refugees before being moved to a different shelter Rabbit had found or one of the hideouts on Earth.

This was your life now. You either lived with Rabbit on Makai, or you visited him as often as you could take time off from work to help him run his camps, but you were a part of his life and doing what you could to help out. Be it helping move supplies, babysitting, teaching Makaians about Earth or running supply deliveries for Rabbit on Earth. You devoted yourself to helping out, and while it was good work it was tiring too...sometimes you had doubts, but all it took was a single look at all the people you were helping, and all of the hardships would be worth it. Even if you were getting uncomfortable with Rabbit sometimes sending you to buy guns for him with money that he just happened to 'find'. You wanted honesty from him and a greater focus on evacuating Makaians, less on violence.

You kept walking until you decided you'd calmed down enough to return and at least try to focus on that day's work with Rabbit.

That was when you spotted one of the Makaians in a robe just a little bit outside of the camp, whimpering and limping, even falling over as if injured. You came over to help them, and they complained about having slipped and twisted their ankle. As you got nearer though, you heard something from behind you and felt the sharp jab as a small thorn-like object had imbedded itself into your neck.

Then your body went numb and limp, as the creature hiding beneath the robe uncoiled itself to reveal that it was a kind of Serpent-Scorpion hybrid, and it coiled itself round you to begin pulling you away to a band of other waiting Demons, who cackled at your capture and spoke to one another about how the Rabbit was finally going to pay up, else his precious pet would be sent back to him in pieces.

For three days no one could find you, and Rabbit was in an utter state about it, throwing things about, interrogating any Makaians who had seen you last, demanding answers, and all they could say was that they'd seen you walking off past the camp, then you vanished.

That was all Rabbit had to go by until a stranger arrived at the camp. It was a messenger from one of the would-be lords of Makai, nothing but power-hungry demons pretending to be kings and demanding tribute and service from anyone weaker than them.

The demon had come in service of lord Machado. A bloated old demon who had the good fortune of building his Keep in a very defensible position long ago and getting plenty of sycophants around him to march around and pretend at being royalty, while bribing those he couldn't intimidate into obeying his orders.

The messenger came with the truth of what had happened, they'd heard that Rabbit was getting soft, he'd grown too weak to kill and actually allowed himself to be ordered around by a human.

"All of the lords near your little camp know that you're pussy whipped now Rabbit." The messenger laughed, even going so far as to knock over an array of teacups that had been left on the table, and listening to them smashing on the floor, as if it would prove Rabbit's weakness.

So, they had kidnapped you, and if he wanted his beloved back then Rabbit needed to understand that Lord Machado ran things now, and his entire operation was no longer about getting Refugees out, but about getting valuable goods and human slaves into Makai, making a monopoly only Lord Machado held.

"Or, you could play a fee to Lord Machado to get your human worm back. "

The Rabbit isn't fucking around. He demands the messenger tell him their price for your safe return.

But it was too much to pay.

They wanted every last bit of food, water, medicine, clothing and more that the Refugee camps under Rabbit's control have at their disposal. They want it all delivered to a specific location within a Fortnight (about two weeks). Failure to comply, would lead to them delivering your head back to Rabbit in a gift wrapped box.

It's one life for the lives of countless other innocents.

Rabbit would gladly pay it, but he knows you would never forgive him for it. Doing so would even risk the kidnappers (or others) trying it again to squeeze more out of Rabbit and put you in danger each and every time.

So, the kidnappers have really given him no choice at all.

He will take you back by force. No matter how many demons get in his way, Rabbit will kill them all, for the one thing that makes it worth suffering through all this hardship.

He starts by beating the messenger with the metal tray which had been previously holding the tea cups the Messenger so casually knocked to the ground. Rabbit is so furious he can't even scream obscenities, only pure, primal, shouts as he begins pummeling the messenger to a bloody pulp and threatening to use DarkCom's infamous anti-demon poison on the little demon messenger unless he told him exactly where to find you, and spilling everything he knows about Machado and those keeping you captive.

The Messenger broke and sang like a bird, telling the Rabbit everything he wanted to know, even things Rabbit didn't care about, all the while pleading with Rabbit not to use the poison on him.

"Relax. I keep my word. When I make a promise, I always follow through on it." Rabbit said with a smile as he kneeled down to the injured demon, and then leaned in closer.

"I won't use the poison on you...this is more fun." Rabbit grinned and began biting into their throat to tear it out. He then ordered for the messengers head to be put on a spike where you had been kidnapped.

It's not about just killing the rival demons, but about sending a message to all future threats. Sadly he doesn't have the time to indulge the malice he feels inside. He's running late for a very important date.

Rabbit has to move fast. There's no time for trickery, no room for elaborate plots. The longer you were held captive, the more likely it was that you'd suffer irreparable harm. His best hope is to strike fast, hard, and keep kicking the enemy while they're down.

It takes time to move across a world as dangerous as Makai, and so Rabbit has bought himself time to use his enhanced speed and knowledge of the portals from Earth to Makai and back, to be able to sneak into Machado's territory much faster than they could expect. He will scope out his target and plan out how best to rescue you.

He's going to have to do it alone.

He can't ask the refugees to help as it would just get them killed. He won't have it, even as some of them insist on coming with him. You've done a lot to help his people, and on hearing you were kidnapped several Makaians were willing to risk it to help bring you home, but out of all of them only Rabbit is an actual fighter, bringing them along would make them a liability, and slow Rabbit down.

He can't hire on another Demon for this, the very notion of it would have them laugh him out of their lairs or try to kill him for following the path of Sparda.

A demon...who fell in love with a human.

Damn it all...it would be worth becoming a pariah if it meant he could be sure it would save you. But the chance of betrayal is too great.

No, it has to be him.

So, Rabbit sets out and spends close to a full day and night watching Machado's keep, arriving far faster than they'd expected. All of the things he'd been having you get from Earth (coupled with things he's stolen or smuggled himself) were a big help.

From a small telescope to cheap night vision goggles, it helped him look for weaknesses in their defenses and the best time to strike, he even made use of some chalk to make some mental calculations for his initial strike.

Sure, their defenses are good against an army who hasn't made it past the industrial revolution, but its nothing against a pissed off rabbit with a Carl Gustave Recoilless Rifle, an AT-4 Anti-Tank launcher, and a whole backpack full of C-4.

He even has a handful of those special DarkCom bullets which he'd saved for a rainy day. Not to mention guns in the right caliber to fire them ("God Bless America!") Its monstrous to have to use it against his own kind. But you are worth it.

Rabbit made you a promise that he would protect you and love you. He will not break that promise.

=========

-Your kidnappers were cruel and callous, the exact kind of Demons who make DarkCom look like a reasonable response, the same kind of demons who the other Makaians are running from. The ones who would have a bone to pick with Rabbit for giving them a way out, and they are taking it out on you.

-Slaps, kicks, having your face dunked in ice water, are just the start of it, but you playfully tell them that Rabbit hits harder than that all the time. "You call that a hit? That's a lovetap." You say even as the next hit knocks the wind out of you.

But they aren't really out to maul you. Just in case Rabbit really does try to pay your ransom.

-They constantly ask to know where Rabbit keeps his supplies, where the refugee camps are, where he hides them and where the portals to Earth are. They ask how Refugees are able to escape from the demon lords who command them, who the informants are among the various local lord's servants.

But you refuse to talk, you bite your lip, you glare at them and you spit at them. They can hurt you all they like but you won't talk.

-You had been chained up in the darkest dungeon the demons could find in their hold. They had punched you, kicked you, pulled on your hair until some of it came out, and even pulled out one of your toenails when you kicked one of the guards square in the face. They didn't want to break you too badly (not yet at least), but there was no reason they couldn't rough you up. It was all play to them, not the true torture that could be unleashed, just a way to pass the time.

The pain was excruciating, blinding, and your brain screamed so loud to do anything to make the pain stop.

But you still held on. You knew you just needed to last long enough for Rabbit to come and rescue you. He would never leave you to rot, its just a matter of time.

It still doesn't help dull the pain as that serpent-scorpion demon drips venom into your open cuts, and it hurts worse than if salt were being rubbed into them. Your nerves scream and your muscles feel like they are on fire. Your vision is full of stars and your ears ring from the shock of it. Your blood is boiling inside your veins and they only cackle and laugh in response.

To them, this is the way of things. The weak are made to be entertainment to the strong, to serve them and be discarded of. This is why the Makaians flee to Earth in hopes of a better life. And that's why they hate Rabbit so much, because he proves them wrong.

Worst of them all was Lord Machado himself. From how the others around him behaved, you'd been expecting Machado to be as fearsome and intimidating as an Oni or a rampaging Minotaur. Instead, he was shorter than you by three inches and as round as a bowling ball, trotting about on stubby little legs ruined by him normally being carried about by slaves rather than actually using those muscles coupled with what looked like gout. His face was short and round and hairy, like a mole crossed with a frog ready to croak.

His hair (what was left of it poking out from under a golden crown) was greasy from a lifetime of unhealthy over eating, and his teeth were unclean to the point he was making your eyes water more from the smell than from fear (even if the demons interpreted it as you fearing for your life now). Everyone else was starving on Makai, and yet Lord Machado found a way to be obese even for how much demons burned through calories.

He spoke about how he could get the pain to stop, how all of this could be over, and all you had to do was answer his questions, spill Rabbit's secrets. He even offered to 'sweeten' the deal by allowing you the honor of becoming one of his harem slaves.

"Surely I can bring you more pleasure than a rabbit!" Machado declared before throwing his head back to laugh.

-In a moment of blind anger, you tried to actually strangle Machado with the shackles around your wrists. The chains on you were designed to hold demons, just a little bit too big your wrists, the chain links were too long, and you surprised everyone in the room (including yourself) when you finally made your move.

One moment was all it would take, he'd put his back to you and his underlings had all underestimated the human they considered Rabbit's weakness. You swung the chains out and around Machado's neck, suddenly yanking him back towards you, with so much force that golden crown fell from his head and you nearly lifted him up off his feet. He struggled and his supporters all looked to one another, unsure of what to do as you pulled Machado close enough to use him like a shield against them. Machado's eyes bulged and he struggled and gagged as you showed him the same fury you had as when you hit that spider demon with a fire extinguisher long ago.

But that one serpent bastard was too fast, as soon as you'd really started trying to strangle Machado, the serpent-scorpion had stung you with his tail and your body had gone limp again. Machado had you chained to the wall after that, and even took a few swings at you himself to save face before his servants. At least the Serpent's toxin numbed your body so it didn't hurt as bad now.

But the torture wasn't without reason. They were trying to weaken you for an interrogation. They demand to know everything about Rabbit, about the refugees, about Earth even. Anything that can be used to make them more powerful, to make them better able to lord their position over others, the pain makes it hard to resist.

"He'll come for me." You say through the gritted teeth.

"And if he's stupid enough to try that, then we'll gut him and serve him to you as Rabbit stew! How's that for a last meal?" The short and rotund form of Lord Machado declared as he backhanded you hard enough to leave you tasting blood on your tongue. Your teeth had bitten through your own lip. Instead of cowering you looked right back at Machado and met his eyes with the hardest glare you could manage, rabbit's lessons still on your mind.

'Never let them see you whimper, never let them see you sweat. It's like dealing with a wild dog, you lock eyes and you square your body. Showing fear only excites them. A third of everything I do on Makai is just a mindgame. I make myself look stronger than I am, and I intimidate my enemies into leaving the refugees alone, that way I only have to fight on occasion and not every single day.'

You remained strong, even if the fear was always there, even if the pain refused to leave, you knew rabbit wouldn't abandon you, and he proved this to you when the first explosions began rocking the entire Keep. Boom, boom, boom, they kept going as Rabbit knelt down outside and used rocket after rocket to start softening up his enemy. It had been a pain in the ass for Rabbit to get everything in place, but it would all pay off soon enough.

"I told you he'd come...a gentlemen doesn't leave a lady waiting." You smiled through the pain, as the sound of explosions continued, with a sudden crash as one part of the keep collapsed from the damage. And yet Rabbit kept on firing rockets at it to get the kidnapper's attention and force them to come to him. He only ever stopped to deliver a message to the kidnappers.

"Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!" Rabbit called out into a megaphone he held before his mouth, even laughing into it as he goaded the underlings of Machado to come out and face him, or else he'd just keep pummeling them till he could go in and grab you himself. He even threw in a few insults at Machado, knowing he'd be too prideful to let it slide, and risk his own men to save face.

True to rabbit's analysis (and thanks to some goading from you) Machado did exactly that, ordering his canon fodder. They ran out in their metal armor, carrying swords and shields, charging uphill to where Rabbit was already loading another rocket, stopping only long enough to call out over the megaphone.

"If you obey his order, you'll all die. This is your once chance to save yourselves."

They continued charging up the hill, so Rabbit shrugged.

"Oh well, come on then!" He yelled at the underlings all running up the hill to try and get to him, firing off more rockets on the sides of the formation to force them all nice and close, into one big mob, where they wouldn't have much room to maneuver for what came next.

His position has been chosen specifically as it would be an uphill location to give him line of sight on the keep, and slow his opponents down. If any of them had been able to check the ground carefully, they would have found several square packages already buried into the ground in a path leading up to Rabbit, a path they'd followed thanks to Rabbit's shots.

"Thank you for being so obliging." Rabbit said as he flicked a switch on a small detonator, and the area before him was reduced to smoke, debris and red mist. The explosion felt even deep inside the Keep, where Machado was beginning to panic.

-Machado had you dragged with him to his saferoom, but you made yourself a problem by using your numbed state to your advantage. your chains kept conveniently being caught by any available piece of furniture and your legs were like jelly, forcing them to drag you along as Machado ordered his toughest men out to go and fight Rabbit, while only he and the Serpent pulled you along. Anything you could do (short of actually lashing out, lest the serpent actually paralyze you again).

-After Rabbit had made it into the Keep, he'd had to abandon the Carl Gustave, he'd used up every last shot for it, and most of the fighting was now down to Rabbit using his own sword and speed to slash his way through the other demons and their underlings. He wanted to conserve his toxin bullets for the big ones, and luckily his intimidation tactics had worked and most were fleeing the Keep. those that didn't were cut down, or buried under rubble as Rabbit used his remaining explosives to seal off certain passageways to keep himself from being surrounded.

A few times they'd gotten close to overwhelming him by weight of numbers, slammed the pommel of a sword into his chest, or swung a chain against his back, one even managed to cut through his suit and slice the skin along his side with their claws. But none of them lasted long against him.

-If Sparda exists as a spirit, then he was lending his strength to Rabbit this night, no injury could slow him down, and no foe could last against his fury. A trail of bodies was left in his wake, and Lord Machado only grew more panicked as the sound of fighting grew closer.

-Rabbit never liked thanking DarkCom for anything, but those special bullets of theirs's were mighty handy here. A few shots and the underling began running, terrified at the power Rabbit had at his disposal, but it only lasted until one of Machado's strongest men stepped out to face him.

-The three headed minotaur towered in the courtyard of the keep, standing over even a statue of Lord Machado himself. It called itself 'Throg' and it boasted that no sword could penetrate his hide. Spears were as toothpicks to him, and even mighty javelins were battered aside. Entire armies fell before him, and today would be the end of Rabbit's legacy at the hands of Throg the Terrible.

his boasting was so loud and so grand that Machado actually heard it and found a window to look out into the courtyard, forcing you to stand up so you could see the end of your savior.

Rabbit was unimpressed, and raised a brow at Throg, sparing a glance at the assembled underlings hiding behind the giant three headed minotaur, before unslinging the AT-4 rocket launcher (his last remaining heavy weapon) from his back and raising it up to his shoulder, just as a demon began sneaking up behind him (as if Rabbit didn't hear him coming a mile away).

"No sword can punch through you, eh? How about a Mark 4 Armor piercing Anti-Tank warhead?" Rabbit grinned as he pulled the trigger and heard the scream of another demon behind him as the backblast of the rocket launcher scorched their face, while the three headed minotaur watched in shock as a rocket soared through the air straight at his chest. It punctured right through his toughened hide and detonated within him. The explosion blew the demon's guts and spine out of his back, showering all the weaker ones behind him in viscera.

The mighty Throg, the main muscle of Lord Machado fell dead ontop of Machado's statue, crushing it into pebbles before the eyes of the White Rabbit, You, and Lord Machado. All that his men could do was watch in horror as the Rabbit looked to them next, and smile.

'Boo!' He said and pointed the (empty) rocket launcher at them, and laughed as the underlings dropped their weapons and fled before Rabbit. Once they were gone he tossed the empty launcher aside, all out of explosives now, and began to pull out the rifle loaded with Anti-Demon poison bullets, when you finally took your chance to get Rabbits attention.

-"RABBIT! I'M UP HERE!" You shouted as loud as you could, and Rabbit's ear twitched before he turned to look at you, just in time to see the Serpent sting you again and leave you numbed as they began to pull you away. At this point it looked like you were Machado's only insurance for Rabbit not to kill him.

-After seeing you in distress, Rabbit redoubled his efforts in trying to make it to you, and the injuries began piling up. Cuts, scrapes, slashes, his suit would need replacing, but none of the pain was enough to stop him. Anything which bled too much he patched up with medical supplies he'd brought for you, or with scraps torn off his very suit.

-Rabbit isn't the best combatant, he's not a martial arts master, and relies a good deal on his speed to make it through each encounter. But a good secret to fighting is that stamina in a hand-to-hand fight can win the day. Sometimes just outlasting your enemy is what matters. But each time you managed to fight off the Serpent's poison, you would shout for him, and that would give him another burst of strength.

-The sounds of you screaming his name were enough to help him find you. Those large ears weren't just for show, and the gunfire was becoming more common now as Rabbit conserved his strength by using the DarkCom bullets against any who tried to attack him. He was burning through them quickly, but closing the distance between you and him. The Serpent's tail stinger was proving less and less effective each time he used it, as if your body were growing used to it and fighting off the effects, until they shoved a rag in your mouth and dragged you into a room where Machado kept his chained up harem girls, Makaians and demons of various types (many with scars showing that they were familiar with the Serpent's toxins) all cowered and watched as you were pulled to a saferoom hidden behind a large mirror.

"Distract him! Seduce him! The girl who kills the Rabbit earns her freedom!" Machado ordered of his harem before he closed off his safe room.

-Rabbit arrived not soon after, pointing his weapon around the room and scanning for threats. He saw only the fearful harem slaves of Machado, and he asked them a single question.

"Where. Is. Machado?" He growled past slip lips and gritted teeth.

All as one the entire room pointed towards the door to the saferoom. Even if Rabbit killed them, they were happy to know that Machado would die too. Some even offered help.

"There's a switch hidden under the bookshelf." one of the girls said, and Rabbit responded by using his sword to cut their bindings and a few bullets to blow off the locks to their chains.

"Go. My camp is to the North-West if any of you want to go to the human realm, you should have a safe enough journey." Rabbit said as he checked his weapon and watched as the girls disappeared with some outright shouting with joy over their new freedom.

Rabbit was so close to victory now, he could almost taste it.

"Just a little longer, dearest. Just hold on."

-You had been drugged yet again, your limbs were like Jelly and your mouth gagged, as Machado stood behind you with a knife to your neck while the other held your hair. They were waiting for Rabbit. Machado made himself bait while the Serpent-Scorpion demon waited over the doorway to lung at Rabbit when he got close enough.

As soon as you saw Rabbit entering, you began fighting to do something, anything, to warn him!

"Mister Rabbit! What a very unwelcome surprise. Now, put the weapon down." Machado instructed Rabbit, his knife always close to your neck.

Rabbit didn't respond, only stepping closer, gun trained on Machado's head and eyes occasionally flicking down to look into your own, to assure you everything would be alright. He hesitated on ending Machado there, because he feared your neck might be cut by Machado's death flails if he shot his head off.

You tried looking up at the Serpent to warn Rabbit but you couldn't be sure he'd seen it.

He stepped in slowly, each step like the countdown of a clock, a countdown for you to take action.

Just before Rabbit fully entered the room, you regained control over your own body and forced yourself to move through the numbness, reaching a hand up to grab the knife with one hand and slamming your head back up into the face of lord Machado. You heard his nose crunching from the impact, and your other hand pulled the gag from your mouth.

"Above you!" The shock of your attack caught the Serpent off guard, and gave Rabbit a moment to act before he struck. Rabbit knew the attack was coming, but he chose to fire a single shot at the arm of lord Machado, the anti-demon poison caused it to explode at the shoulder, freeing you and sending Machado falling back screaming.

But Rabbit and the Serpent were both fighting and struggling on the ground, rolling about as the Serpent coiled itself around him, trying to prevent Rabbit from either pulling his sword or pointing his rifle anywhere. Eventually the Rifle was flung away from Rabbit's hands and the Rabbit was left grabbing the Serpent's neck with one hand, and the stinger with the other to keep them from poisoning him.

Rabbit's strength was failing him, he wouldn't last forever, and even though you were still numb, you had the presence of mind to scramble for the rifle, picking it up and aiming for the two of them, your grip was shaky, and they were moving around too much. Until Rabbit saw you, and made a choice.

He allowed himself to be stung in the shoulder, while pushing back on the to give you a clear shot, and you made it count!

The Serpent's tail was blown off, along with his poison stinger, and in his agonized shouting, another shot found its way to the Serpent's head and brought an end to that horrible monster.

Only Lord Machado remained, flailing about with his blood spraying out, screaming a mix of obscenities against you and Rabbit, while also pleading for mercy and how he'd give you all his wealth.

Rabbit took the gun from you with his still working arm, and fired three more shots, depriving Machado of his remaining limbs. He'd die slow, agonized, and alone. A proper message to anyone else who tried this.

Once that was done, Rabbit looked to you, and came in for a soft embrace.

Rabbit doesn't blame you or chastise you for anything. The fault was entirely with the kidnappers. He's happy to see you alive, and rubs his furred cheek with your own.

"Let's get you home, dearest."

The two of you limp back to the entrance of the Keep, any survivors of Machado's staff instantly flee at the sight of Rabbit and you are safe to walk outside, even finding that some of the refugees from the camp came despite Rabbit's orders and they were able to help you get back to the camp for much needed rest and treatment.

You're both in for a long recovery period, but Rabbit refuses to leave your side the entire time, and insists on holding you, letting you know its alright, and shedding a few tears in private over how he'd feared that he'd lost you. If you need to cry, he will be there to comfort you.

Some of the harem girls actually did come to Rabbits camp and attended to you the same way they would to one of their own who had been given the serpent's toxins, helping you both to a speedy recovery.

In the coming weeks Rabbit would recover sooner than you, and set out to making sure Machado's lieutenants and confidants were all dealt with, even asking you for descriptions about them. They couldn't be allowed to get away to seek vengeance. But each time he went out to hunt them down, he took longer and longer to return.

It stopped being about retribution after he'd gotten you safely back to his camp. It became about sending a message, to every other would-be lord and demon who thought they could toy with the Rabbit.

Rabbit wasn't weak. He just chose not to engage in violence. But anyone who gave him reason to do so, would find just how cruel he could be. Rabbit is only peaceful because his beloved brings out the better angel within him. Without her, without you, he indulges in his inner demons, and lets them dance and sing in the slaughter.

The dark world of Makai has few lights in it, and you are the only light in Rabbit's life now.

======

Couple's soundtrack:

-"A Grave Mistake" Ice Nine Kills.

-"Falling Inside the Black" Skillet.

-"Carnival of Rust." Poets of the Fall.

-"War" Poets of the Fall.

-"Friction" Imagine Dragons.

-"Bury the Light", because Rabbit is a storm approaching that enemy keep with ill intent!

[burningcheese-merchant]

A Thought About Shadow Milk Cookie

I actually meant to make this post months ago, but I sort of let it fall to the wayside for the sake of other things. Now Blue Gatorade Cookie is coming out tomorrow and I'm like "ahhh shit I'm late" lol. Consider this a sequel/accompanying piece to the Burning Spice Cookie post

Shadow Milk always gave me a bit of the impression of being a Victor Frankenstein type. If you haven't read the book (please do, it's fantastic), then this quote sums up both the character, the story, and my perception of Shadow Milk pretty well:

"Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."

Knowledge is power. Knowledge is freedom. Equally so, perhaps even MORE so, knowledge is fun. It's fun to learn new things. And with all of this in mind, Shadow Milk did his best to pursue the knowledge he so championed, and share it with the world, whatever it was. You give a man a fish and he eats for a day; you teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. So Shadow Milk made it his mission to teach all men to fish. To teach them to read, to cook, to sew. To teach them magic, to teach them science, to teach them whatever filled the gap between. Perhaps he even went so far as to become a close associate of a certain academy, if not outright being its founder (Blueberry Yogurt Academy theorists, where you at lol). Anything to achieve the ultimate goal of inspiring others to learn and thrive as he does.

But as I said, knowledge is fun. There doesn't necessarily need to be a reason for it. Maybe Shadow Milk never actually needed one; even if there was no one left to teach, he could always teach himself, for he was always his own greatest student. And so whenever he had time, he read every book he could get his hands on. Practiced every spell. Sang every song, recited every poem, memorized every bit of meaningless trivia. Anything and everything to feed his endless hunger for more knowledge. Because it was... fun. It was freeing, to have those little burdens of doubt lifted from his shoulders, however inconsequential they actually were. And - however much he was able to admit it, to himself or to others - it made him feel powerful.

Until he started learning things no one else had before. That no one else could. That no one else should.

Maybe he learned how to peek into people's minds, and saw exactly how vapid, selfish, stupid and cruel so many of us really are beneath the façades we wear. Maybe he uncovered secrets that accidentally tore apart families, scandals that threw governments into chaos, acts of betrayal that may have started wars. Maybe one day, he learned the ultimate truth of the world; who and what cookies were really supposed to be, and what their makers really thought of them. (Not too far off from White Lily, really.)

In his desperation for solutions as well as some semblance of self-comfort, Shadow Milk just kept on learning. Kept searching for answers. Kept acquiring more and more knowledge. Because it was all he ever knew how to do. It was all he believed himself to be good for. But it was never enough. Not only did he never truly find the answers he sought - whether it be because they never existed in the first place, or because whatever he found only made him ask even more questions than before - but he just kept going down more and more rabbit holes. And he couldn't stop himself-

No. That's not true. Of course he could. He just didn't want to. Because knowledge is power, and deep down inside, he was always power-hungry. And besides that, he was just so curious. Morbid curiosity can be a terrible sin. Perhaps a small part of him, one he never wanted to give credence to, relished in being smarter than everyone else. And maybe that same part of him was also hubristic enough to believe he could learn whatever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, just because he could.

Perhaps Shadow Milk tried to sound the alarm, so to speak. Share those great and terrible truths he uncovered with the world. But nobody listened, no matter how much they believed in and respected him otherwise. Because the truth is stranger than fiction, more often than not, and there's only so much strangeness people can tolerate. Knowing this - knowing how foolish people can really be, how quick they are to shun the truth to protect their own feelings - he looked for another answer, like he always does. Shadow Milk always had a fondness for theatrics; he wasn't just a scholar, he was a poet, a playwright, an artist. And thus, it was with these talents and loves of his that he tried to teach people what he knew. He wrote stageplays that became famous. Fantasy novels that became bestsellers. Poems and essays that were read aloud in classrooms. Everything he could throw at the wall with as much panache as possible. Because that's who he is, and that's what people are more likely to listen to. People like bread and circuses, so he gave them a whole bakery and performed every circus act himself.

But it was never enough. Those threads of truth he so carefully wove into the tapestries of his work; no one felt them. Those easter eggs he hid; no one found them. Nobody ever saw what he saw, whether he snuck it into the picture or plastered it right in the center. And so Shadow Milk came to realize that no one ever actually wanted to know the truth, no one ever actually wanted to learn anything, no one ever actually valued knowledge. All people cared about was what they could personally gain from it and nothing more. No higher purpose of any kind. Just what conveniences and inconveniences them.

And what's the point in helping people like that? How do you teach the unteachable?

Shadow Milk likely became bitter (or sour, because lol milk). Maybe he slowly began turning truths against people. Hoarding people's secrets and spilling them randomly, just out of spite (and discreetly, because he wasn't looking to be caught, and nobody was smart enough to catch him anyway). Making puppets and plays depicting people at their absolute worst, and watching them all smile and clap because they fell for it. They fell for his jokes. For his ruse. They didn't notice he was mocking them without a shred of irony or remorse. The only art Shadow Milk became interested in after he succumbed to despair was telling cruel jokes at others' expense and painting pictures for all the Dorian Grays of the world so they can keep lying and pretending they're good and that they're worth something. Because lies are all people really want to hear, right? Because it makes them feel better about their miserable lives?

I'm sure Shadow Milk tried to turn back, even if only once, for just a minute. He's smart, he's wise, he knew what the end of that road looked like. Maybe he sat up all night just arguing with himself about it. About the nature of his work. The meaning of the knowledge he acquired. The meaning of knowledge itself. What was he doing this for, really? What has he EVER done this for? Was it really for others, or for himself? What if he gained all the knowledge in the universe, then what? What would he do after that? What if he did manage to convince people, what then? What if they panic? Turn on each other? Turn on him? Were they really better off not knowing?

Was he just slowly talking himself through that door until it was closed and locked? Did he do so knowingly? Did he delay the inevitable for... for what? Did he even know that?

All the knowledge in the world didn't save Shadow Milk from falling to darkness, nor did it save anyone from the chaos he chose to wreak afterwards. Maybe knowledge never saved anyone from anything. What is knowledge, anyway? What is truth? What is deceit? The more you know, the more you realize you don't know anything at all. Maybe truth and deceit are one and the same. Maybe reality is only what you perceive it to be. Maybe life is a joke. Maybe people should just have fun. Lie all you want. Tell truths just to drive wedges and shatter hopes and dreams. It doesn't matter. It's all the same. There's no way out.

TL;DR: Knowledge is power, but power corrupts. Perhaps not all truths are worth knowing, after all. Be careful with what you learn, and what you know. And be careful not to believe yourself to be smart enough to dictate what truth and lies and knowledge are to others, for no one truly is. That kind of hubris will only lead to disaster.

(I'm sorry if some of this sounds weird or doesn't make full sense. I wanted to get my thoughts out before the update to see if it turns out that anything I say has official merit lol)

[dizzyditzblitz]

' Invited ' | Chp. 2

Shadow Milk x Fem!Reader (please understand from here on out i dont proofread 😭 i literally just write all of this in one go)

went a very different direction because I'm finishing this after the sage of truth costume came out and it makes me emotional

fluffy angst

After the kingdom found out, although it was painfully obvious, Shadow Milk was here, the cookies staying at Y/N's castle had become restless.

There was this Beast Cookie in their kingdom. Near their homes. Especially after the damage Shadow Milk did to Y/N and not to mention Pure Vanilla? Why was he here? Was he here to crumble the queen?

Pure Vanilla had also found out, although he found out via the fact he ran into Y/N walking with Shadow Milk throughout the town.

His heart dropped, but he attempted to recollect himself. Pure Vanilla beelined, his steps light. It didn't take long for him to finally catch up to Y/N and Shadow Milk,

" Y/N Cookie! " Vanilla chirped out, masking his deep concern with a smile,

Shadow Milk was the first to look over, Y/N following suit. Y/N stared at Pure Vanilla, trying to equally play it cool,

" Hey, " Y/N responded, clearly nervous about what Pure Vanilla was to say,

" Might I ask what you have there? " Vanilla implored,

Y/N glanced at Shadow Milk before averted her eyes elsewhere,

" I just want to talk to him, " She finally murmured,

Pure Vanilla blinked, his eyes finally opening to stare at the two. His other half holding hand-in-hand with Y/N. It wasn't jealousy in his heart— it was fear.

Pure Vanilla's hand had been gripping his staff, clearly on edge. Yet when Y/N finally looked at Pure Vanilla, Vanilla softened just a smidge. His mind kept asking why, but he wanted to trust Y/N. And he did; but his distrust for Shadow Milk was far greater..

Yet, Shadow Milk himself had actually been quiet during their whole conversation. It was a rare moment. Shadow Milk still felt Y/N's trembles whilst they held hands; he also felt Pure Vanilla's eyes burn right through him.

Shadow Milk's expression was unreadable, but he was growing furious. Why was he feeling so small? How dare Pure Vanilla crumble him with just a glare? And why was his heart hurting? Shadow Milk knew the pricks of pain in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it.

All of their minds were ticking, like a three-way draw. Y/N finally broke the silence with a soft sigh,

" I'll be okay, " She finally reassured Pure Vanilla, her tone quiet yet convicted,

Pure Vanilla frowned a bit but relented gently,

" Alright.. " He sighed, giving Y/N a slightly forced smile,

" And— " Y/N abruptly started, seeming sheepish, " Can- can you try and soothe the town? Please? " She begged, " You're really good at that.. " She mumbled in a pout,

Pure Vanilla couldn't help but laugh a little at her pout. 'What a mess she is' he thought to himself,

" Of course, " He assured,

" Thank you, " She smiled gently, watching Vanilla turn with a wave.

Y/N let out a heavy sigh, now looking at Shadow Milk. Apparently, he had been brewing silently in his own mental turmoil throughout the majority of that conversation.

" Shadow Milk..? " Y/N hesitantly called out,

Shadow Milk's eyes widened a bit before snapping over to Y/N's eyes. It was unnerving how quick and wide-eyed he was..

But when he finally returned to reality, surprisingly, he softened. Shadow Milk stared at Y/N. Both looked tired.. especially emotionally. He looked down, realizing she still had his hand. He had to fight the urge to give Y/N's hand a squeeze..

The silence continued, and Y/N kept returning the shared stare. And she noticed something. She noticed vulnerability. A grief that eroded a once warm and happy heart.

The weight of what she noticed in Shadow Milk's eyes finally cracked her. Y/N's hand squeezed his hand as if she was trying to convey a planetary weight of emotions. She broke down, her tears pouring and sobs of everything hitting her all at once..

Shadow Milk jumped a bit at the sudden grip and her tearful display. He usually would mock tears, relish in the dramatic display, and laugh. But his thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar drip of his own tears,

He felt his breath hitch, staring at Y/N having a breakdown. Hesitating for a few moments.. Shadow Milk caved and pulled Y/N into a hug.

It was strange. It was bizarre. Especially since Y/N clung to him and returned the hug. Her and Shadow Milk wept in unison, both holding onto one as if in fear the other would vanish.

It was exposure therapy to Y/N but also therapy all around to Shadow Milk and Y/N,

Shadow Milk's knees finally gave out, falling down onto his rear, taking Y/N with him. He essentially kept her snugged close in between his knees, like a big plush toy, his tears not letting up; his frilled collar even seemed to droop a bit due to the tears,

Y/N's hands had clawed and balled up fists of fabric from his clothes, her own tears slowly letting up. Her breathing hitched rapidly with each breath. Slowly, she adjusted her head and rested her chin on his shoulder..

Y/N leaned her head against his, her eyes closing as she felt herself tear up again, listening to Shadow Milk cry.. feeling his entire frame tremor.. She let out a heavy and shaky sigh..

" I never wanted to be like this.. " Shadow Milk finally started, his voice very unsteady,

Y/N gave a confused frown, gently pulling back to look at Shadow Milk, his hair disarray and tears never-ending,

" I didn't want to hurt other cookies.. I never asked for the responsibility! " He exclaimed, his voice cracking,

Y/N jumped a little at the display. This was so far, so-so-so far from the Shadow Milk whose ego was bustling like the sun. This was a cookie. A cookie's life who was robbed from them..

Y/N couldn't help but softly cry again, instinctively cupping his face,

Shadow Milk flinched, pulling away, wide-eyed and deeply suspicious. But when he saw her sincerity, Shadow Milk couldn't help but sob again and slowly lay his head in her hands,

" I—I wanted to say..to say yes.. " He mumbled through tears, " To— to be friends... " He finally admitted, strained,

Y/N listened to him vent, feeling his head in her hands and her thumbs brushing away his tears,

" I'm so tired... of being alone... watching everyone from afar.. " He whispered, slowly falling silent again as his tears slowly slowed down..

Shadow Milk lifted his head to look at Y/N, his own sniffles and hitched breaths filling the silence.

Y/N stared up at him, but she was met with Shadow Milk leaning down and bumping his forehead with her own, gently.

Shadow Milk and Y/N found their heads on the other's shoulder, their heads leaning against one another,

" ...I'm sorry I hurt you... " He whispered, his voice only loud enough for her to hear, " and your friends.. " Shadow Milk mumbled,

Y/N's gave a small noise, signaling she heard him whilst her arms slowly went around and began to hug Shadow Milk again,

" It's not okay.. " She started, which prompted a shift of discomfort from Shadow Milk,

" But I don't hate you... " Y/N concluded, hiding her face in his shoulder, " I can't bring myself to hate someone who just wanted company... " She hushed,

Shadow Milk softened in relief. It was his turn to listen and listen he did,

" Your actions were awful.. " Y/N continued, slowly pulling from the hug and sitting back on her calves and knees, " I'm not happy you hurt my friends and myself.. " She continued,

Shadow Milk gave a small nod, understanding the vast depths of his actions. The games. The lies. The toying with essentially everyone and everything. He became a little more saddened, jumping to the conclusion he would be shunned away,

" But I believe everyone can have a path to redemption.. " Y/N added, her voice now soft after the tears finally left,

This response prompted a look of surprise from Shadow Milk, staring at her to look for any deceit.. yet he saw none..

Shadow Milk lifted his own hand and began to gently cup one of Y/N's cheek. He stared at her, the silence slowly swelling again,

Y/N softened further, now leaning her own head into his palm,

" It's going to take some time to repair things.. but I wanna try.. " She confessed,

Shadow Milk gave a nod, pulling Y/N back into a hug, practically engulfing her. The hug seemed to last a while... the atmosphere slowly easing off weight..

[nyctoaerah]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: Who would've known that the man you spent a night with was the very same man that you're planning to kill? It was a cruel twist of fate, cause as you spent more time with him, you found yourself growing attached-inlove even. But, you ended up knowing the truth about suguru’s death, and the thirst for justice and redemption for Suguru consumed you. The pursuit of absolution drove you to consider any means necessary, even if it meant risking your own well-being, your sanity, your very essence. You were willing to sacrifice everything just to obtain the revenge you so desperately craved, even going as far as to ignore your feelings for Satoru. After all, it doesn't really matter, because Gojo Satoru was yours, he was yours to play with, he was yours to manipulate, and yours to kill, and he’s not complaining about it.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: explicit smut, dub-con (kinda since they’re drunk) overstimulation, drunk sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), dirty talk, nasty shit all that. Virginity loss.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Op! Assassin! Suguru's adopted daughter! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: This story is the revamped version of my previous fic “Devil in Disguise” it has the same plot, but this one just has a better story flow in my point of view;) also available in Wattpad and Quotev! Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated! I already posted this, but this time, i extended it and actually posted the full smut;33 Also, random fact; Gojo’s fingers are canonically 6 inches;)

╰┈➤𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Next chapter

YOU HAD SOUGHT REFUGE in the confines of a random club, craving the numbness that alcohol promised.

You were hoping that the pulsating music vibrating through your bones and swirling burn of alcohol would drown out the  hollow emptiness you were feeling, you wanted to push all of your thoughts aside—to forget about Suguru’s death.

Just that, all you wanted was to drink and feel the buzz.

So how did you find yourself in this compromising position, your body entwined with a random man whose name you didn’t even knew?

How did you end up on his lap, on his bed, making out with him?

The kiss was feverish, your tongue sliding sensually against his, the taste of his mouth was reminiscent of the tangy sweetness of freshly ripened strawberries, yet there’s also this faint tang of alcohol, a flavor lingering from his previous indulgence, perhaps.

A needy whine escaped your lips as your hips undulated against his, seeking greater friction.

“So impatient...” He mumbled as one of his hands gripped your hip to keep you in place, while the other hiked the fabric of your dress up to your waist, exposing your bare skin to his heated touch.

“Can i?”

You whispered, your voice barely audible in the dimly lit room. His breath hitched as your fingers grazed the silk blindfold covering his eyes. 

“Do as you please pretty girl. I’m all yours.”

You hooked your fingers beneath the bandages and slowly, reverently, lifted it away, revealing eyes half-lidded and swimming with lust.

Long, white lush lashes framed irises the deep, captivating blue of the ocean. Your breath caught in your throat—he looked so exquisitely, devastatingly beautiful without the concealing fabric—He was already pretty with the blindfold on, but gods was he smokin’ hot without it—You’re not sure if you’re just exaggerating things, but fuck, did he looked ethereal.

His snow-white hair tumbled down to veil his face in a curtain, softening the sharp spiky hairstyle he had when he was wearing a blindfold.

You bit your lip, watching as the rounded bump just under the skin in the front of his throat bobs ever so slightly at your intense gaze. A slight flush heats up on his skin, and you touched it, pressing the pads of your fingers on his skin.

You scarcely had a moment to bask in the sight before he took the discarded blindfold from your hand and let it fall to the floor, forgotten.

His mouth explored the sensitive column of your neck, tongue tracing lazy, meandering paths.

You arched into his touch slightly, wanting for more contact, craving the delicious friction that might ease the aching tension coiled low in your belly.

“You sure that this is what you want princess?” His silky baritone caressed your ear as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders.

“I don’t wanna take advantage of you, not when you’re drunk.”

“Mhm.. m’ sure.”

Though the drink had clouded your mind, beneath the shallows of intoxication stirred a deeper craving—something you never felt before, you’re sure that you wanted him.

“I’m not drunk.”

His brows arched in doubt as his hand glides down your spine with practiced care, finding the clasp that holds your dress in place, the clasp yields to his deft fingers, baring your flesh to his exploring gaze.

“Your words say yea, angel, but i don’t want no dubious consent. I want full consent.” 

“No, S’ not dubious, you have my full consent.” you murmur, trailing your hands along his neck, tracing the pulsing vein in it before your hands dipped down and slipped beneath the hem of his shirt. Your fingers trace slow circles over his taut abs, feeling the contours of hard muscle and flush skin.    

His body was warm, and quite nice, comforting even.

He shivers at your delicate touch—which you found to be quite cute.

You found his words weird, however—It contrasts with his actions, that’s for sure.

“I want you, okay?” you breathed on his ear, eliciting a visible response upon his flesh as shivers caressed his form. He swallowed with effort, aroused yet wary, cognizant of the libations which dulled your inhibitions as his own.

Satoru was in no means a person who likes alcohol, he hates it, infact, however, he ended up drinking, just in hopes to forget about Suguru.

Very much like you so.

But he didn’t really expected that he would end up having a woman on his lap, not that he’s complaining, ofcourse. You’re quite beautiful after all.

“Hey...It’s still dubious, can be counted as non-consensual too. Cause you’re drunk. I don’t wanna take advantage of you, okay?” He said.

You fixated your gaze on him, a brief moment of silent observation passing between you. His movements, though tinged with a subtle languor, was filled with restraint, that surpassed your own faltering self-control.

“Nope.”

you insist softly.

“I’m not drunk.”

His eyes smolder as he considers your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Your speech is slurred.”

“Nope, S’just an effect from you,” You replied with a lopsided grin.

“You take my breath away.” You mumbled, prompting him to blink owlishly down at you.

“Random as fuck.” He chuckled.

“But, i’ll take it. Just tell me to stop and i’ll stop, yeah?”

Your heart fluttered rapidly at his words, and a faint blush crept onto your cheeks as you swallowed thickly, your throat suddenly felt too tight, too dry.

After all, You hadn’t expected such considerate behavior after everything, such genteel conduct took you aback.

“Safeword?” you asked, your voice slightly unsteady.

“hm.. Strawberry?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

“Wait...” you say, craving the taste of his name on your tongue, “I still don’t know your name”

His brow lifts in amusement.

“Would you scream it if i were to tell you?”

You shivered as his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck His lips hovered so tantalizingly close that you could almost feel his ghostly touch against your skin, tempting you to lean into it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave any marks, unless you want me to..?”  His voice was velvety smooth, laced with a hint of lust, causing a flutter in the pit of your stomach.

“Do you want me to?” He murmurs, slowly withdrawing his touch from your skin.

You hesitantly lift your shoulders in response, shrugging.

“Speak, angel, use your words.”

“I’m fine with anything,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

A pleasant hum escaped him. “Good girl.”

You looked at him, pupils dilating slightly.

“You never answered my question though. What’s your name?” you uttered softly, your fingertips caressing the contours of his abdominal musculature in delicate strokes, tracing upwards towards his pectorals. As your hands explored the topography of his torso, drawing sensual patterns across his flesh, his breathing became heavier. He let out a hum of approval, hooking his fingers beneath the hem of his garment and lifting it swiftly over his head in one fluid motion and discarding his shirt on the ground.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your eyes instinctively drawn to the pale line bisecting his torso. The scar was long, yet its texture intrigued you. How did he got it, you wondered.  The scar was long, begining from his throat towards his lower abdomen.

It fascinated you.

You swallowed thickly.

“Can i touch it...?” 

“Do whatever you want. I’m all yours.”

Your fingers drifted slowly along its length.

“Satoru,”

“My name is Satoru.” he uttered the name, and for some reasons, each syllable was laced with a familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory, muddling your thoughts with a sense of déjà vu.

But you were too loss in the moment, not even able to think clearly, thus, you were oblivious to the fact that...

He’s the person that you’re planning to assassinate.

“That’s a pretty name,” you breathed, your pulse quickening at his caress.

“I’m pretty sure yours is pretty too.” he replied with a soft smile, his blue eyes staring intensely at yours as his thumb swept slowly along your lower lip, parting them like the velvet petals of a rose. An intoxicating shiver ran through your body at his delicate touch.

“[Name],” You mumble and he sighs.

“Sounds like a good name to groan about.”

He murmured and lifted you off him and lied you amongst the silken pillows, your [H/c] tresses fanned out, forming a vivid halo around your flushed features. His eyes lingered over your form, his tongue swiping on  his lower lip to moisten them.

“Alright, Just say the safeword, and i’ll stop, yeah?” He says, earning a nod from you.

“Speak.”

“M-mnh.. yes”

“Good girl.” He praised softly.

“I’ll do all the work, yeah? Just lay down there like a good girl n’ let me please you.”

Slowly, his lips brushed the skin of your neck, eliciting a sigh from you. his fingertips traced your spine down to the clasp of your bra, and a quiet flick of experient fingers released the barrier, freeing your chest to his hungry gaze.

“Beautiful.” He complimented.

His fingertips leisurely caress delicate circles around your nipples, coaxing a delicious ache of pleasure to ignite. He lavishes attentions on one nipple, drawing it into his mouth while his nimble digits continue their expert ministrations on its twin, evoking an unabashed moan to escape your quivering lips.

He lets go off your nipples with a pop.

Starting at the base of your sternum, he planted slow, sensuous kisses, inching ever lower towards regions still untouched. When he reached your stomach, he placed a gentle kiss on your belly button.

Moving away from the bed with graceful precision, he knelt before your quivering form and slid greedy hands along your thighs, grasping your hips to pull you on the edge of the bed, so that his head was completely positioned between your legs. A wanton moan escaped you then as he lifted one leg high, draping it over his broad shoulder.

“Relax, f’me pretty girl.” He said, after noticing how tense your body is.

You watched, enamoured as he pressed a line of searing kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—he looked so pretty while doing that.

He hummed as he saw the dampness in your underwear.

“Look at you,” he chuckled breathily.

“All we did was kiss, n’ you’re already soakin’ wet.”

His lips traced delicate patterns along your thigh, each fleeting caress like liquid fire on your fevered skin.

Fuck, who would’ve known that he’ll turn you in a whining mess with just his kisses?

Humiliation blooms in your throat as you realized how pathetic you are right now, You clasped a hand over your flushed visage, heart pounding erratically against your ribs.

Satoru seemed displeased with that though.

“Hey, none of ‘that” He scolds.

“Lemme see your pretty face.”

You took a ragged breath, though anticipation swirled within you, nervousness lingered at your edges. But then, this is what you wanted isn’t it?

“I-i don’t wanna.” 

He scoffs and shifted his weight, pressing you further into the pillows.

“Do it.” He says.

You shook your head and he sighs.

“If y’don’t take your hands off your face, i’ll tie you up n’ fuck you till you can’t walk.” 

“ S’ that what you want angel?”

“No..” You sighed, not wanting to get tied up, you slowly curled your fingers away from your flushed face.

“You’re so shameless...” You mumble.

“Yeah, no shame at all. Why would i be shameful of myself when I have a pretty lil’ thing like you under me? All soakin’ wet n’ pretty.”

“Besides... I know you like it anyways,” He mumbled.

Satoru’s tongue, hot and wet, darted out to leave a scorching trail against the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

You sighed, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

“Open your eyes n’ look at me, pretty.”

“I want you to look at me while i eat you out.”

This is so embarrassing and humiliating that it hurts, your throat constricts, his words makes you embarrassed, he was just so blunt, so shameless—he was all so sweet and using romantic words when you’re just kissing.

But fuck, did satoru changed once you gave him your consent, pressin’ you on the sheets like that and saying filthy words.

You reluctantly fluttered your lashes open to meet his stare, laying yourself bare as fingertips ghosted ever higher.

“See? That’s a good girl. Now just lie there princess, let me make you feel good.”

You felt yourself swallowing thickly as he hooked nimble fingers into the lacy edge of your undergarments, sliding the delicate fabric down your legs.

It was slow, agonizingly slow, too slow for your own liking.

Your body suddenly involuntarily jolted as a wave of his scorching breath caressed the intimate flesh between your legs.

“So pretty..” His words were a low murmur, infused with a hunger that made humiliation to bubble up your chest, feeling embarrassed.

“Don’t... don’t stare,” you murmur back, feeling self conscious, flush of embarrassment tinged your cheeks, your hips shifting involuntarily beneath his intense gaze.

“Don’t stare... S’ making me embarrassed.”

With a devilish smirk dancing on his lips, he gave another teasing lick on your thighs. Satoru wouldn’t lie, he wanted to bite your thigh so bad, sink his teeth on your plush thighs, and leave a mark, but he restrained himself from doing so.

“No, m’not staring love, just... studying, don’t be embarrassed” he murmured almost innocently, his words a stark contrast to the boldness of his actions.

“Besides... You’re so beautiful in here... You just can’t just expect me to not compliment it.” He says.

You shook your head. “It’s not that... It’s just.. i.. i haven’t done this before.” You mumble.

“Haven’t done oral before?” He questioned, watching as your face burned as you shook your head.

“I’m a virgin.” You confirmed.

His sapphire eyes widened at your confession and his throat constricts, adams apple bobbing in his throat.

The revelation caught him off guard, each breath he took feeling like a fleeting gasp of surprise. He had not expected this revelation, not from you. Your actions had spoken of confidence and skill, and, damn, you sure did like a seductress.

His hand twitched, the pads of his fingers pressing on your thighs slightly.

“No wonder you’re so shy...”

He pulled back slightly, a tinge of guilt creeping into his consciousness at the notion of overwhelming you. Aware that his dirty words may be foreign to your ears, he gazes upon you with a mixture of empathy and desire.

“We can stop this if you want.” he offers, his gaze intense and probing.

“Shit no.” you murmur.

“Don’t stop. I want you.” The words escape your lips in a breathy whisper, laden with lust, restraint flickers in his eyes, as he caught his lower lip on his teeth.

“If you say so. I have a thing for popping cherries anyways,” He says with a laugh. 

Your breath suddenly caught in your throat as his thumb glided teasingly over your clit.

A playful chuckle escaped his lips at your sensitivity, before he leaned in once again, his warm breath ghosting over your heated skin as he kissed your clit.

“Sensitive, are we?” he chuckles softly before dipping down to give your throbbing clit yet another teasing lick, releasing a desperate whimper from your parted lips.

His fingers gently spread apart your folds, his face inches away as his tongue teases your slit, the wet muscles licks the slick trail that has gathered on your pussy, eliciting soft whimpers from you as your body instinctively responds with a slight arching of your hips.

“aah.. hnngh, satoru”  You mewled.

“You taste so good... heavenly even.”

With another tantalizing lick, he savors the exquisite taste of your arousal. His hungry mouth then latches onto your pulsating clit, sucking on it gently. Moans escaped your parted lips as you clutch onto the sheets.

He devoured you as if starved, his hunger palpable in each expert lick and fervent suck, transforming you into a feast he couldn’t devour quickly enough—Your moans were like delicious music to his ears, and fuck, did it it make him hard. He whines, grinding against the edge of the bed, seeking friction.

“I can just eat you out everyday and not get tired of it...” he moaned shamelessly, his voice slightly muffled as your hips bucked involuntarily, a whimper of pleasure escaping your lips.

“Love your taste so much.”

Satoru’s tongue moved skillfully around your clit, softly brushing against it to send shivers down your spine. With deliberate movements, he gently licked it in distinct patterns, exploring your most sensitive spots.  

His fingers grip tightly onto your hip, while he eagerly indulges in pleasuring and sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing a titillating sensation that makes your inner muscles contract and a surge of euphoria creates a swirling sensation in your stomach.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pretty girl?” satoru whispers, his words muffled by his persistent oral ministrations. As he continues to pleasure you with unwavering determination, the pleasure he evokes from within you cannot be contained, escaping your lips in the form of unrestrained moans. The pleasure becomes so overwhelming that it threatens to engulf your vision, as though a curtain of stars is poised to blind you from the outside world.  

“Fuck, Satoru, i-i’m.. haaah..” You panted, thighs shaking as your insides contracts, a tingling sensation radiating on your body.

“I know. C’mon. Cum for me, angel. Lemme taste you on my tongue,”

You let out a deep moan, succumbing to the intense climax as you cum hard. Radiating satisfaction, satoru hummed contentedly while skillfully lapping up every trace of your released essence.

“You taste like heaven itself, just like i thought...” he whispered, his voice filled with longing, as he withdrew from your pussy and stood up and pressed his lips against yours. The taste of your own cum lingered on his mouth, intoxicating and arousing, causing you to moan in pleasure before surrendering to his passionate kiss. 

As the two of you kissed, his touch ventured lower, his hand finding its way to your puffy clit again, rubbing it, prompting a chorus of moans from you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his middle finger probing your hole gathering your slick before slowly pushing inside.

“Breathe.” He whispers.

“Hngnh, Satoru.” You whined on his mouth as he added another, his fingers were so long and thick, filling you so deliciously. The sensation of his fingers stretching you from within was intense and slightly painful, yet somehow enjoyable in its own way. 

“You’re so tight, you gotta relax n’ let me in.”

You bit his tongue, causing him to let out a low moan.

“There..  you gotta adjust.. that’s it, good girl.” He murmurs, whispering sweet nothings into you.

Satoru’s cock throbbed painfully beneath his straining trousers, yet he focused solely on pleasuring you, expertly thrusting his fingers in and out of you. When he grazed upon a certain tender zone, an eyebrow arched knowingly as your riven flesh clenched tightly around his digits as he pulled away for a bit.

“Ahn.. hnn please,” You panted.

“Oh?” He purred slyly.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” He murmured, once more curling his finger upwards and pressing that spot within your pussy, drawing forth a lustrous moan as your arched your velvet back in pleasure.   

“You tightened around me, did i hit a good spot?”

“this is where you’re weak, isn’t it?” His digits thrust rhythmically into your inner sanctum, coaxing ever more ardent moans of euphoria from your lips.

“How cute.”

A molten pool of desire gathered low in your belly, waves of euphoria washing over your trembling frame.  

Satoru bit his lip as his hand slid stealthily down within his own constrained trousers, swiftly freeing his engorged member to pump smoothly within his curled fingers.

His thumb smeared the precum that was leaking on the tip, using it as a lube to slowly jerk off.

“Aahh... Fuck..” he moaned gutturally, his fingers, still buried deep within your moisture-slicked cunt, he withdrew his fingers sluggishly and raised it languidly to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste your essence.

“C’mere.” he says, sitting upright and patting his lap

His voice was ragged with want as he beckoned you closer. You rose from the rumpled bedsheets and moved to him, sitting on his lap, feeling the heat of his gaze as it roamed your naked form.

“Kiss me.” He commands.

You immediately kissed him, the taste of your essence still upon his mouth, and it made butterflies fluttering in your stomach. His cock pressed against your skin as he stroked himself.

“haah... Feel that princess? ’m so hard for you”

Breaking the kiss, you gazed down at satoru, drinking in his beauty as your fingers traced the lines of his chiselled abdomen, following each dip and swell. Your mouth followed the path of your hand, pressing feathery kisses along the scar that he had, revelling in each hitch of his breath and twitch of muscle beneath your ministrations. 

Your gaze then lingered on his cock, admiring its size and girth. The tip was flushed red with arousal, and it twitched at your gaze, you pushed his hand away from it.

He seemed to be surprised at that—yet didn’t make a move to stop you.

“Ah, Ah? Did i told you that you can touch me?” He teased.

You nipped on your lower lip, as you tentatively wrapped your hand around his shaft, marveling at its sheer thickness that challenged your grip.

“No... But i wanted to touch you.” You mumbled, You ache for deeper intimacy, craving the solace of flesh against flesh in your drunken haze. 

“Mmnh.. maybe if you’re really that desperate... Maybe i should just give it to you, hm?”

“Tell me what you want.” he says, his fingers entwining in your hair, tugging gently to lift your gaze to his. A moan escapes you.

“You,” you manage to breathe out, the craving evident in your eyes. His eyebrow quirks.

“Be specific.”  he murmurs, his tone commanding and seductive.

“I wanna please you too,” you confess, your words laced with need—all the shyness from before leaving you, only lust remains. He exhales heavily, releasing his hold on your hair.

“So eager to please aren’t you? Such a good girl.”

He hums.

“Go on. Suck me off, show me what that pretty little mouth can do.”

As you followed his command, you delicately bent down and rested your head on his cock. Extending your tongue, you dragged the flat of your tongue and traced the vein that prominently bulged on the underside of his dick.

Your tongue slowly traced a path up his shaft, moving towards the tip. With anticipation, you opened your mouth to take him in, feeling a bit of discomfort as you adjusted to his size. It took some time for your jaw to accommodate the width of his girth as his tip brushed against the back of your throat. 

You looked only to see that he was only half way in, and shit, you just realized how much he’s gonna hurt your throat.

 “Ngh.. you gotta relax your throat if you want to take me in your mouth.” he moans, sensing your discomfort as you struggle not to gag. Following his instruction, you comply, feeling Satoru's sharp intake of breath as he nips his lip in pleasure.

Despite the sensation being pleasing, it's clear that he craves more.

“C’mon angel, take me deeper.” he urges softly, his fingers entangling on your [H/c] locks, his gaze fixated on your hollowed cheeks and watery eyes. The sight of your tears only serves to fuel his desire to push himself further into your mouth, relishing the idea of watching you Choke on him. The thought of you looking so enticing in that vulnerable state drives him to actually thrust himself deeper down your throat. 

Satoru thrusts upwards, causing your throat to constrict as you struggled to breathe. Tears ran down your cheeks and saliva dripped onto his shaft.

“Breathe through your nose.” He instructs.

“That’s it,” he uttered with a sensual groan, his eyes half-closed as he guided your head to move back and forth on his dick. He licked his lips, observing you as you found it difficult to deepthroat him.

He hummed contentedly, the room filled with nasty squelching sounds. He savored the feeling of your throat tightening around his cock like a vice.

Such a poor thing, he thought, feeling your fingers dig into his thighs.  He ran his fingers through your [H/c] tresses before slowly withdrawing from your mouth with an audible pop, a strand of viscous fluid on your lips cheeks flushed and eyes dewy.

“That’s enough, i don’t want you vomitting on my dick.”

Gingerly, he swept the disheveled locks from your face and captured your lips once more, not giving you a time to recover, humming as he tasted himself on you. When at last you broke for air, chests heaving in unison, he met your hooded gaze with a glint of intrigue.

“You suck at this.” A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as his strong hands found your waist.

“M’ sorry,”  

You shuddered involuntarily as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your neck, eliciting a chill that radiated through your trembling form. Soft whimpers escaped your quivering lips.

“Shhh..” he cooed in a velvet tenor, his palm softly gliding along your side before his digits pressed deeply into the plush of your ass. A small gasp passed through your slightly parted mouth at the fervent sensation of his fingernails gingerly clawing your supple skin. 

“I know that y’wanna please me.”

“But there is no need to overexert yourself,” he said as if he wasn’t the one who practically shoved your face down on his dick.

“I enjoyed it,”

“D-did you?” you inquired.

“Fuck yes, your throat’s squeezin’ me so tight n’ it feels good.” 

A swelling sensation arose within your thorax as elation is in your throat, though an acute pain seized your esophagus. Your larynx felt inflamed and raw, as if scoured by sandpaper. But despite the troubles afflicting your throat, you had performed admirably based on his praise, you felt proud.

“Maybe i should reward you for bein’ so good?” he purrs, his hand sliding from your stomach down to your lower abdomen, a low hum escaping his lips as he plunges his fingers into your hole. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he begins to curl his fingers inside you, pressing against your g-spot and stretching you again. As moments pass, he withdraws his fingers, your slick coating them entirely.

“I think you’re more than ready.”

“Let’s get you on top, yeah?” he says lifting your form to straddle his hard cock.

He reveled in the sight of you nestled against his towering frame, a delicate contrast to his strong physique. Each ragged gasp you drew in, every flush on your face, and the smudged remnants of makeup only served to enhance your allure in his eyes.

“C’mon, take me in.” he says, kissing your cheek. “Just hold onto me”

Your response was a subtle bite to your lower lip, a silent surrender as you obediently placed your trembling hand on his firm neck, burying your heated countenance in the sanctuary of his shoulder.

“Hm...”

He hoists you up slightly, his firm hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it towards the heat between your thighs. The tip of his arousal brushes against your clit, eliciting a fervent sigh as you inadvertently dig your nails into his muscular back.

“Ready?”

A soft whimper escapes your parted lips as he slowly eases into you, the initial entrance is a searing burn, it burns deliciously as he splits you open.

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, the searing sensation reverberating through you as his cock pressed against your cervix with a tantalizing ache. “Relax, let me in.” his whispered command brushed against your nape, his lips trailing kisses as his fingers drew deliberate circles upon your quivering skin.

“It’s... it's too much,” you gasped, the overwhelming fullness causing you to scrabble at his back, your nails digging into flesh as you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes.

“T-too much, ‘Toru, please,” You writhe

“C’mon, You can handle it,” He remained motionless, allowing you the space to acclimate to the invasion, his warm breath ghosting over your ear as he urged you to yield.

“Relax, pretty, let me in.” 

Your head swims with a dizzying blend of pleasure as you feel him deep inside you, his hand venturing downward to circle and massage your clit. Gradually, you begin to acclimate And he exhales in pleasure  as he revels in the tight clench of your walls around him, the exquisite sensation coiling through him.

 “Do you feel that?”

“You’re taking it so well,” he groans.

“It fits so perfectly well isn’t it? It’s like you were made for me.” he whispered.

“Alrighty, time to move okay ? Put your back into it.” he gripped your hips firmly, he guides your body to ebb and flow along his dick. 

“Up, down.”

You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan as you felt the heat of his rigid cock gliding inside of you . His hips bucked, setting a quickened pace that had your breath hitching in pure ecstasy. Your eyes fluttered shut as each powerful thrust hit that sweet spot deep inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being.

“‘Toru, ‘Toru” You whined his name.

 “Pl-please," you gasped, your voice laced with need, as you instinctively dug your nails into his muscular back, raking them down with a delicious sting.

“I need… I need you to… kiss me,” you managed to murmur. 

“You want me in your mouth too, hm?” He teased before pressing his lips against yours, your teeths clashing together.

“Fuckk, that’s it...”

His soft expletive escaped his lips as he reluctantly withdrew from the intoxicating embrace of your mouth. His hands slid down the curves of your waist, mesmerized by the sight of his cock moving rhythmically within you.

“Your lips taste like ambrosia,”  he murmured, his words accompanied by the clenching of your inner muscles around him.

Fuck, he was drunk in your sounds, drunk in the way you feel, you were just so heavenly.

“C’mon, cum. I know you want to.” he coaxed, a low moan escaping him as he felt your body shudder in ecstasy, tightening around him as you cum hard.

The sensation of your climax sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his own release building rapidly. His abdominal muscles clenched as he inhaled sharply, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him.

“Fuck.. can I... inside?”  he asked in a whimpery voice, seeking your permission in a breathless whisper. You, lost in a haze of pleasure, simply nodded in acquiescence. With a guttural groan, he emptied himself into you.

Even as he already released, his pace did not falter, fucking you as if you’re his little human fleshlight. His grip on your waist tightened as he deftly shifted your positions, swiftly flipping you over so that you were beneath him.

“Let’s go for another.”

━━𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

Your respiration came in uneven gasps as your tongue lolled delicately from your mouth. Your visage was flushed a deep scarlet and a sheen of perspiration coated your form. Your gaze, though half-lidded with lust, remained trained attentively upon him. Situated backwards upon his lap, your legs were parted widely as he nestled his face against your scapular region. Your hands clung desperately to his  biceps.

One of his hands rested upon the slender column of your throat, while the other rests on your chest, playing with your nipples. His cock thrusts rhythmically into your inner sanctum the tip of his dick kissing your pretty little cervix, coaxing ever more ardent melodies of euphoria from your lips.

His hand slid down your body, a subtle pressure teasing the soft curve of your abdomen as he pressed against the small bulge on her abdomen.

“Haah... Fuck.. you feel me in there pretty? M’ so deep in you.”

He let out a low moan, his grip tightening around your hip as he intensified his rhythm.  

Satoru’s respiration was labored, eyelids weighed down as his lips caressed your shoulders delicately. Crimson marks peppered your skin where his mouth had wandered voraciously. Your back met his chest in a slow slide,  your skin kissing his.

The sound of heavy breathing, moans, and skin slapping against each other vibrated through the room.

Your thighs ached dully and muscles sore from prior exultations.

“mnhh.. ‘Toruu, please,” You mewled, squirming.

“M’ tired already, Please... S’ too much.”

You two have been going on it for some quite time now, how many times did he made you cum again? Was it six times? You can distinctly recall experiencing orgasm twice from his tongue, once from his fingers, and three times from his cock. The sensation of being stretched caused considerable discomfort, even though he took the time to prepare you, it still stung.

“Mnh.. my poor angel is tired, huh?” satoru uttered in a mellifluous tone, tracing the swirling contours of your auricle with the tip of his tongue before affixing an ardent kiss on the pulsing carotid beneath. 

“Don’t worry.” Satoru says.

“I’ll take care of you after this... So, just be a good girl and take it all, okay?”

Satoru had already become enraptured in the way you tasted and sounded, drunk on the melodic chorus of gasps and moans that spilled wantonly from you. Though sobriety had returned to claim his clarity of mind once more, for you intoxication still lingered and he knew it.

He wanted to stop, but how could he? You were squeezin’ and taking him so good and deep, and he just needed this release after the suguru incident after all.

He was having too much fun in splitting you in half after all.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

AUTHORS NOTE:

I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS SJKSKSJS, fun fact; i’m an asexual virgin. It's so funny writing this HAHHAHAHA, i literally CACKLED when i was writing “pussy, cunt, cock,�� AHHSHSHAH MY IMMATURITY COULD NEVER😭 I WOULD KMS IF I EVER ADDED BALLS.💀

[anneapocalypse]

I wrote about this in the faith post, but every time I log in on my alt or just NG+ some ARR for Ariane, I am reminded that Urianger appears quite happy in ARR before a bunch of his friends are murdered and he's kidnapped and held hostage and then his best friend dies and the entire Crystal Braves disaster happens. He's not heavily involved in the plot for most of ARR but when you see him in the Waking Sands pre-Garlean attack, he is not lurking reclusively in the corner or buried in his books; he's engaged in animated conversations with other Scions, and he's happy to chat with you excitedly about their work if you talk to him.

There's this reading out there of Urianger as unhappy and withdrawn until he comes out of his shell in Shadowbringers, which I just don't think is actually accurate to his canon journey. I fell into it myself for a bit, because the Warriors of Darkness plot is when I really started paying attention to him, and from that point on he is very isolated and not doing great, for very understandable reasons! And for a long time, the image of him standing alone in the corner of the Wakings Sands was really burned into my mind--but that's post-WoD Urianger. That's not ARR Urianger.

Yeah, he struggled with socialization as a kid, but that was before he'd found his people with Louisoix and the Circle of Knowing. He clearly doesn't have trouble socializing in the Scions even if some of them find him peculiar. Like most of the Circle of Knowing members, he has some unresolved issues sure, but he's doing all right--up until he experiences a frankly unreal amount of trauma and upheaval in rapid succession, after which I think most people would not be doing all right.

And his dramatic visual transformation in Shadowbringers is inherently deceptive, not just because Urianger himself is involved in a big deception (delightfully lampshaded in the name of his gearset being "Soothsayer," truth-teller, exactly what he isn't at the time), but because arguably Shadowbringers is actually Urianger reliving all of his ARR-HW trauma and having all his old wounds opened:

relocated against his will

forced to lie to his friends for the greater good

forced to accept the sacrifice of yet another companion, and arguably a leader, as for the greater good

watching multiple friends suffer because he asked for their help

bearing witness to a messy adoptive parent-child relationship, which probably brings up some feelings about his own childhood and parental neglect

watching his close friend's old wounds and abandonment issues reopened

constantly living with the knowledge that all of this is, directly or indirectly, his fault

He is having such a bad time in Shadowbringers, and it's only with the lessons learned from that journey and the failure of the Exarch's plan that he eventually has an epiphany and begins to make peace with himself, culminating in the moon scene in Endwalker.

And that's part of what I love about his journey, I think, that it's not a simple A->B character transformation. We see him when he's doing pretty all right, all things considered, and then we see him fall and fall and fall, sometimes repeating the same mistakes multiple times before he figures out how to grow from them and ultimately find peace.

[love-toxin]

Finale -> Lyney

plot: you and lyney can't really "agree" on the terms of your sudden breakup.

(cws: yandere!lyney, gn!darling, good ol' male manipulating, jealousy & cheating accusations, threats, crying, breakup angst w/ fluffy ending)

wc: 2k

It generally took very little for Lyney to find issue with something you'd done. Your partner was not callous or cruel by any means–in fact, he was often quite kind and caring, moreso than most others you'd met in your day-to-day life.

But if he was anything, Lyney was, well…devoted. Dedicated might be a more professional word, but the devotion of Fontaine's most prominent magician could not be understated nor ignored. Lyney was a performer, an artist, a man of great talent and greater loyalty, and nothing on the soil of Teyvat–not an ocean nor a rippling puddle–could tear him away from someone he proclaimed to love and adore. Nor would he ever allow someone he had devoted himself to be ripped from his embrace.

That was exactly where you found yourself now. The breakup had not gone well…Lyney had taken it quite badly. If the tears and desperate pleas for you not to leave weren't enough, the begging and tugging on your sleeves as he tried not to let you step away from him was simply too much to bear. He switched from devastation to fury in moments, flipping between one and another like an absolute crazed madman. He swapped between sobbing, begging to know what he'd done to ordering you through spiteful tears to tell him who the “other man” was, as if he were flipping one of his coveted playing cards. He grew so unhinged so quickly even Lynette had to get between the two of you to calm him down, and it just made it so much more of an ugly mess.

“Please, just think about it. My brother really loves you. Can't you two work it out?” Her words had come from a loving place, you knew, but it was simply not in the cards for you any longer.

You'd long grown sick of Lyney's jealousies, his possessiveness, his hunger for you that overwhelmed all common sense at all the wrong times and places. He wouldn't give you space and he wouldn't take no for an answer whenever you swore you would never leave him. It was his own fault that you had to go back on all those promises he never believed.

Now, all you had to do was pack your things. Lynette had graciously let you know when he was supposed to be out so you could come and collect them in peace, without starting another argument. But so very like her; she neglected to tell you that she'd also informed Lyney of when you were coming, and by the time you stepped into his room your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. It was instantly too late to leave. You sighed, and your former lover's ears perked up as he sat back on his chair by the desk. Clearly, he had stayed to wait up for you.

“...And where is this attitude coming from?” He bit at you with a snark that had never before been directed at you in particular. You elected simply to say nothing; it would be best for both of you not to say a word. So while he stewed in his own feelings across the room, you shuffled over to the wardrobe right by the door and started stuffing things into the bag you'd brought, whatever you could reach. His violet eyes glowed with frustration, burning holes right through your back like lasers.

“Don't, Lyney. Please.” Your timid voice interrupted the tense silence that followed. At once you felt the air shift, and heard the sigh of Lyney behind you that warned you of an impending change of heart. Him being angry at you was all a farce. In truth he hated to show any irritation towards you at all, and even in relatively harmless fights he would always end up folding much sooner than you ever thought to as he despised not having your favour. The creak of the chair echoed in the small chamber, as did his footsteps as he methodically made his way towards you. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Your fingers twitched as he took in a breath just a hair's length from your neck.

“I miss the scent you always leave on my pillow…” He muttered quietly. You said nothing. He took a strand of your hair between his gloved fingers, and it took everything within you not to cringe in anticipation of him ripping it out of your head. “I tried to use the soap you wash it with, but it just smells like nothing without you. It's not even worth the money.” He leaned forward, eyes closed, and delicately pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck.

Oh. Why had you let him do that? Why were you letting him still get closer, his chest and his hips meeting yours from behind? You didn't even make a move to flinch at the contact, and that was all that would have stopped Lyney if you had the guts to do it.

Perhaps the answer was obvious. You didn't want him to pull away.

“...You know, if you come back to me, I'll buy it for you from now on.” Now came the bargaining again. Lyney's hands moved upwards to brace your hips, and although you moved your own palm over one of them, your muscles still refused to contract and tug his off of you. Lyney slowly started to sway with you, taking hold of you like a little porcelain doll to posture as he pleased. This dance was so familiar–he would do this every time you stood at any counter, and distract you from whatever you were doing–and it was the nostalgia, you realized, that was stopping you.

“Lyney, we're broken up.” Your lip wobbled while you swung that truth at him like a weapon. But he seemed…unaffected. His words had no tinge of hurt nor malice like they had before.

“We can get back together.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. “All this will go away. I can make all the bad things go away. I can get rid of whoever's pulling you from me-”

“Lyney, I told you there was nobody else.” You broke away from his touch, away from those fingers that crept down your sides and the hug he'd been holding you in from behind. You stepped away and turned to face him, your conviction still not as unwavering now that you'd allowed yourself a moment to bask in Lyney's attention.

��And I told you that you're a damned liar, sweetheart.” Lyney suddenly spoke through gritted teeth, though his smile remained albeit much more tense and nowhere near the vicinity of reaching his eyes. “I'm sure it was that ginger rat that was sniffing around you, but I told you, I've already forgiven you. Plus, he's out of the picture–there's nothing keeping us apart anymore.”

“Lyney, stop! Can you just stop? Why can't you ever just believe me when I tell you anything?” The huff in your tone barely moved the needle for Lyney this time. He was clearly too wrapped up in the gleam of your eyes and the soft press of your lips together as you spoke to take in anything you were saying.

“You're so beautiful when you're angry.”

“You're not listening to me.”

“Kiss me.”

How many times had your arguments culminated into this? Into Lyney grabbing your waist against your will, all smiles and teasing giggles, as he blew puffs of air against your skin until your composure broke? He darted forward with eager lips to try and catch you, just barely backing you into the wardrobe, and on the third try he actually cracked your facade–his desperate kissy sounds and gentle tickling actually made you laugh. Really laugh, for the first time in what felt like ages. And for perhaps the first time, he didn't claim his prize once he figured he'd won. He stood back, hands still gripping you gently, and just watched as you laughed and snorted at how bad his aim was. “Just like always,” You said, and that part hit a nerve within him.

“Come back to me.” He faced you with a serious disposition yet again, and although you balked and rolled your eyes at the moment growing tense yet again, he persisted. “Let's forget this. I'll do better.”

“No you won't, Lyney.” You sighed. “You never change.”

“I will for you.” He swore, moving closer to keep your gaze as if losing it would mean losing this battle he was fighting so hard. “I'll change. I'll be better. I'll do anything for you. Anything.”

“Will you? Change, I mean?” You hesitated even to ask, but Lyney did more than answer. He dropped to his knees right there, his hat tumbled away and off to the side. He wouldn't look up at you with anything but doe eyes, his chin resting snugly against your soft stomach as he held your waist in his arms from below.

“I love you more than life itself. I'll be a better man, I swear. I'll change. I'll change right now! I won't…I won't ever doubt you again.” He nuzzled his face deeper into your belly. He clearly must have missed you at least twice as much as you expected, since he seemed to shudder in pure bliss at just the warmth of your skin through your clothes–a reprieve you had no idea he wanted to claw his eyes out over the fear of losing. He spoke again from the muffled depths of your shirt. “Just come back to me. I'm sorry I never believed you when you said you wouldn't leave. I won't hold it against you–I drove you away, didn't I? It's my fault. I-I deserve it, but I…” He sniffled, and turned his cheek to your stomach instead to keep from soiling your clothes with his tears. “...I just want you back. I feel like I can't breathe without you, my darling. Please come back, and I'll fix everything.”

And in the midst of so many conflicting feelings, you stood there and let him cry. Although this time was brief and much less charged than when you'd first broken up with him, in this moment you let your body move on its own to soothe his pained woes. Your fingers slid through his blond locks and stroked him, trailing over his scalp in waves that instantly calmed Lyney down. You fidgeted with the ends of his hair with your other hand as well, mindlessly combing through those messy stray hairs that you always watched him tuck back into place before a performance. You did love Lyney. As much as you wanted to hate his attitude towards your separation, you could only feel sympathy now–it was a dangerous game you were playing with someone as manipulative as he could be, but you didn't know that, at least not well. You had no idea that even now, those gentle sobs were nothing but crocodile tears.

Lyney did well to shield you from all that. And when your knees started to buckle, and your strong will began showing cracks, your ex-lover went in for the kill with one last, yearning look up at you, eyes glistening with fresh tears.

“Please, baby?”

You were finished. The words didn't even register as they tumbled out of your mouth–all you knew was that in a moment, Lyney was up on his feet and he was hugging you tight, nearly crushing your bones as he promised ad nauseum that he wouldn't waste this precious chance. He would be better, he would do better, he would listen and be more attentive and not be so pushy–and though you only believed half of those promises in the moment, the desperation with which he kissed you and the squeeze of his arms trapping you in a tearful hug inflated some sense of belonging within you.

At least with Lyney you felt wanted. You felt desired, needed, not like a piece of furniture or a token but as someone who literally laid the ground for him to walk on. He wouldn't dare breathe an ounce of air if you weren't around to give him a reason to. And as bad as it might turn out to be when the people closest to you start going missing….at the very least, the man who refuses to live without you will only get closer and closer to your side, desperate to earn that approval of yours that he coveted more than all the Mora in the gods' universe.

[wordsandrobots]

Let's talk about Haman Karn and presentation.

(This post contains a lot of images, including some stitched frames that would have been a lot easier to put together if the animators hadn't gone wild with overlay effects.)

When first introduced in the back half of Zeta Gundam, Haman is presented as the wicked witch in the Neo Zeon court, a powerful, dangerous 'newtype' who plays the conscientious regent to girl-queen Mineva Zabi while in truth calling all the shots. What is most striking about Haman's initial design is how simple it is. A funereal black tunic and grey leggings is almost laughably at odds with the rich, golden-threaded uniforms of the Zeon military officers, as worn in miniature by Mineva herself. Haman displays no rank and you could almost think, in isolation, that she had no official position.

But she isn't presented in isolation. That she is the axis (pun intended) around which Neo Zeon revolves is shown by how her appearance actually interacts with the scenes she's in. For one thing, pink hair and a red inner lining to her cape combined with an otherwise excessively sombre colour scheme draw the eye when contrasted with the rest of her forces, making her appear far more significant. For another, the cape grants her the outline of other important Zeon characters like Char Aznable and Kycilia Zabi, something further emphasised when she takes to the battlefield.

As with Char before her, she opts against wearing a spacesuit, a show of utter confidence in her abilities that proves well-founded. She emerges triumphant in battle, overpowering her predecessor with greater psychic abilities. There is thus a strong element of performative humility to her costume. It places her outside the military hierarchy, in a fashion distantly akin to Mineva's other attendants, yet there is never any question as to where the power behind the resurgent Zeon lies.

Complicating this picture is a vision shared with Zeta's protagonist, Kamile Bidan. When their minds link during combat, he catches a glimpse of Haman's prior relationship with Char, implied to have been romantic in nature. I don't believe we ever get confirmation as to whether this is a recollection or a fantasy; Haman states the visions are both dreams and memories. Certainly Haman and Char know and despise one another in the present, so nothing that happened between them ended well.

In this moment we catch a glimpse of an 'innocent' version of Haman, dressed casually, her overall palette matched to her hair rather than counterpointing it. Aside from establishing more of the history gestured to by her interactions with Char, it demonstrates that there is purpose to her current mode of dress. Ostentatiously plain black is not the default for a happy, contented Haman Karn.

Haman's next chronological appearance, several episodes into sequel series Gundam ZZ, comes after several (literally rose-tinted) flashbacks that show her still in her 'witch's blacks'. However when she finally comes on screen in the flesh, it is in very different ensemble: a tightly-buttoned charcoal dress and white scarf that appear to be a form of 'back-stage' attire

It's the least made-up we ever see her, with rather bedraggled hair in place of her normal sweeping coiffure, as if co-villain Glemy Toto and later protagonist Judau Ashta have caught her right after stepping out of the shower - the one to give a report hinting at a later arc, the other to sneak in by mistake and trigger a series-long rivalry.

The roses in over-the-top imaginings of brainwashed minion Mashymre Cello are reduced to balcony decorations and Haman possesses none of the glow he ascribes to her. This is the truth behind the delusions, canny and hard-faced. It is a grounding moment for the character, removing the implicit theatre of her previous appearances. Mineva is nowhere to be seen and without her, there is no need for Haman to pretend.

These scenes also establishes Haman's newtype credentials, as Judau sees her starkly overlaid upon cosmic fog and then projecting a monstrous apparition that shows the danger lying under her presently unassuming surface. The theatrics may be absent; the threat she poses very much is not.

Having in this manner brought us up to speed on the character, the show proceeds to roll out a second performance from Haman. We watch as she is dressed ahead of taking charge of a battle-fleet. In tight close-up, an attendant helps her into a flamboyant outfit featuring projecting epaulettes and a much longer cape, then presents her with a spiked, crown-like headpiece.

There is only one word to adequately describe the result: regal.

Gone is any pretence of being subordinate to someone else. When Haman steps on to the bridge of her flagship, it is as the true queen of Neo Zeon, ready to crush all who oppose her. Projected as a hologram above the Earth, this new costume's purpose as a propaganda tool becomes crystal clear. Haman has taken the place of Zeon's previous rulers, the Zabi family, replicating their flare for dramatic rhetoric and dressing herself in their flag.

It is in this guise that Haman makes her attempt to 'seduce' Judau (canonically 14) and to get up on my soapbox again, this is very obviously an act. We can see the calculation in her facial expressions as she exerts psychic 'pressure' and generates a starry vision to entreat him to join her cause, even when the assault on his senses culminates in a near-kiss.

These are means of control comparable to the chivalric romance fantasy via which she manipulates Mashymre. She is lying and once snapped out of the trance, Judau sees that - much to Haman's annoyance. Another powerful newtype is a wildcard she can ill-afford to let run free and her easy solution to the problem has been foiled. This sets the tone for their interactions from here on out.

Haman next appears at a reception in the Federation capital of Dakar, which Neo Zeon have occupied, effectively signalling their triumph over Earth's official forces. This is an extremely key scene in terms of ZZ's overall themes, as it starkly illuminates the craven, greedy nature of the supposed authorities. As Leina Ashta, Judau's sister, observes via her empathic abilities, everybody in the ballroom is pretending, buttering up the Zeon leaders in anticipation of their victory. We see multiple Federation officials bowing politely to Mineva and to Haman, for entirely self-serving reasons. Cynicism, manners and social convention are turned into a source of horror, an ersatz world of fake smiles and hollow laughter.

Within this, Haman is dressed to the nines, putting a new twist on her original presentation. Once again, she is the sole member of Neo Zeon wearing civilian clothes, standing out from a wall of elaborate ceremonial uniforms. Moreover, her superficially restrained black and white dress is enhanced with a smattering of jewellery befitting the occasion, and she has donned visible make-up, something she otherwise does not use to any great degree. These mark out her social standing, emphasising that those present should pay attention to her and her alone.

One thing I do think this dress highlights is the way in which ZZ does not go out of its way to sexualise Haman. The show generally commits to bawdy comedy far more than its predecessors, featuring as it does Chara Soon, a woman who gets *ahem* excited by mobile suit combat and is dubbed 'Boobazilla' for her antics with respect to the male members of the cast. But although Haman is depicted as pretty and not above attempting seduction, her costuming never really leans into that. If anything, the reverse: she favours restrained, formal looks that rarely display her skin in suggestive ways. [Please see a correction/addition on this point here.]

Her Dakar attire is the most daring she gets and intentionally striking in comparison to the other attendees at the ball. She still remains an aloof, intimidating figure, defined by sharp angles and a wide-shouldered outline.

Proceedings are naturally interrupted by non-Federation resistance groups and Judau breaks into the mansion to rescue his sister (Leina's arc through the first half of the show has her kidnapped and subjected to Neo Zeon attempts to 'civilise' her). Sensing his presence, Haman moves to confront him, only to end up talking unexpectedly openly about her motivations for conquering Earth. After expressing rage at having returned from the depths of space to discover an Earth-bound elite continuing to wreak ecological ruin on the planet, she notes what an odd feeling honesty is.

Judau is unimpressed and rejects again the idea of joining forces against the Federation. Restating that she cannot therefore allow him to live, Haman attempts to shoot him, only for Leina to be injured in the struggle. This sends her brother into a rage, his newtype powers manifesting at full blast.

Now it is Haman who sees a monstrous vision overlaid upon her opponent and, putting a nasty twist on the idea of being able to speak her mind around Judau, her composure cracks entirely. All at once, Haman is reduced to abject terror, firing blindly then outright fleeing the anger directed at her.

Intriguingly, Haman's sense of Judau is as a bestial force yet Judau's friends pick up only a gigantic version of the boy they know. It is as if what they experience as a normal if exaggerated emotional reaction is, to Haman, utterly horrific, reducing her to hiding in her bedroom, appalled that anyone could exert such pressure upon her.

With the reception disrupted and her propaganda coup in tatters, Haman retreats both to her flagship and to her warrior queen attire. While it makes sense for her to change into something more suited to taking command, there is something compelling in the idea this represents an attempt to reinforce her authority after the shock of confronting Judau. Perhaps this is Haman taking comfort in her authority over Neo Zeon, as embodied by the crown she wears into battle.

Moreover, her next major action is to order a colony drop (literally displacing an orbital space colony so it crashes to Earth) on Dublin, a hideously destructive war crime designed specifically to "demonstrate [Zeon's] power through terror!" Coming hard on the heels of her brush with Judau's fury, it is tempting to draw a straight line from discovering something capable of scaring her to wanting to remind the whole world why it should be scared of her.

Between Dakar and Dublin are a couple of brief asides with Haman that underline again how conscientious she is about how she presents herself. During another meeting with Glemy - indicated over the course of ZZ to be a bastard son of the Zabi family - she reverts to her black tunic, as in Mashymre's visions, trying to exert control over this wayward heir. The ploy is a failure since Glemy shortly thereafter makes an angry break with her, unconvinced by her shows of deference to his heritage.

In the following episode, Haman resumes her battledress, only sans crown for the simple reason that she is back in the same room as Mineva. She makes a point of maintaining appearances, irrespective of how much she overshadows her supposed superior. At the tail end of this scene, her inner monologue reflects on her older sister's death in service to the Zabis and on Char's abandonment of the cause named for his father, Zeon Zum Deikun. Haman concludes that she has always been alone, a sentiment deserving sympathy but overshadowed by her upcoming decision to effectively nuke Ireland. Regardless, there is a telling novelty about seeing Haman dressed as the war-queen but without the masking structure of the crown. Thanks to the way her collar is cut, this renders her more visibly open than any of her other costumes, a visual blending nicely with the reveal of some context for this most singular villainess.

Now is a good time to reflect on that, on Haman being Gundam's first major female villain (Kycilia Zabi, though striking in her own right, cannot claim the status of arch foe for an entire series). That Haman Karn is a woman is important to how she works as a character. I hope I have covered sufficient ground to demonstrate how she is conceptualised in terms of appearance and the manipulation of social forces. Her attempt to seduce the hero alone marks her out from her male counterparts - Zeta's main antagonist, Paptimus Scirocco, displayed the power to entice women via the force of his personality, but this did not take the form of allure or leaning in for a kiss, and was never applied to Kamile.

Surprising I think no one, Gundam ZZ is as committed to a distinction between male and female signifiers as its predecessors. The very fact I am writing an essay about how Haman controls and changes her appearance depending on the situation should be ample demonstration of how specifically feminine villainy is portrayed. Glemy doesn't have nearly so vast a wardrobe.

Even so, something ZZ has over its predecessor is a shift in how masculinity and feminity are discussed. No longer is this part of the diegetic content: we are spared characters philosophising over the nature of womanhood in the context of war. More than that, Glemy's attempts to mould Leina into a (fascist) vision of a perfect lady are oppressive and quite literally an act of imprisonment. This casts Haman's own position in a somewhat more nuanced light. She is navigating a sexist society with intent, and her own flaws are not presented as anything so gauche as 'needing a good man in her life'. Char, the subject of that vision from Zeta, left Haman to shoulder the burden of leadership, rather than being merely guilty of jilting her. The thrust of her self-reflection is a combination of hating the Zabis for her sister's death, determination never to be that kind of victim, and the conclusion she alone must build her future. It's as worthy a motivation for Gundam villain as we might find anywhere else.

Nevertheless, we now have to turn our attention to Haman's next major arc, which sees her donning a disguise in order to sneak closer to Judau.

The Tigerbaum arc sees sexism and the objectification of women profoundly muddled between something the show is highlighting with a critical eye and something it is itself engaged in. Minor villain Stampa's lecherous abuse of his position as colony governor to prey on young women is presented as deplorable. At the same time, these episodes give us yet another entry on Gundam creator Yoshiyuki Tomino's long list of female characters killed to provide an air of tragedy and motivate male members of the cast, this iteration so badly animated, it isn't even clear *why* or *how* the poor woman is mortally injured.

Haman's choice to personally infiltrate the situation by donning a blonde wig and an unassuming red skirt and jacket combination marks renewed emphasis on her two-faced nature. Her obsession with Judau has developed such that this is mission is entirely in service of trying once more to recruit him to her side. Not incidentally, this results in her dropping the ball on the Glemy situation, providing him the room to start a full-blown coup.

It is established in the characters' minds over the course of this arc that Judau and Haman are on some level calling to one another. When they come face to face, Haman entreats her young foe to help build a world for newtypes and to stop being held back by his emotions and his attachment to others. Meanwhile, a convenient psychic priest clues us in to a sadness hidden behind this standard villainous pitch. Sarasa even explicitly tells Haman that, at their core, her feelings are no different from Judau's.

Haman rejects this assessment. Her spycraft is defined by an inability to play the part of anything other than the haughty aristocrat. The red disguise, while distinct enough to hide her at first, quickly proves to have a silhouette close to her original costume, broad sleeves tapering elegantly to thin wrists, and her briefly expressed interest in seeing "how the common people live" is an exercise in contempt. She has no time for those who don't serve her goals or share her vision.

From the first, Haman has been - seemingly by her own design - the singular figure at the heart of Neo Zeon. This is how she chose to cloak her loneliness, aiming to take total control of the world and punish those she deems to have been inexcusably careless towards Earth. She is bad at disguising what she truly is, even when it would be to her advantage. Judau senses who she is from a touch and only doesn't realise what it means until later because circumstances distract him. Glemy's disillusionment stems precisely from Haman's failure to convincingly appear to serve the Zabi bloodline. As I said at the start, she draws the eye.

Events race towards a head and as the Neo Zeon civil war heats up, we get a last outing for the black costume. Haman returns to Core 3, the old heart of Zabi power, where Mineva is being kept, and adopts the old theatre. Except, it is wearing very thin by now. Breaking into the huge palace, Judau encounters Mineva on her own and she states outright that while Haman claims to care for her, she doesn't believe it any more. We'll later learn this isn't the real Mineva Zabi but a double, a girl saved by the Haman and used to safely hold people's focus, lending these words an extra layer of pathos. This false Mineva is a prop: Haman has reduced the focus of Neo Zeon belief - the righteous of the Zabi's cause - to empty puppetry.

Where this sequence sings is in the continued interplay between Judau and Haman. Judau, partly at the 'Mineva's' insistence, attempts to steal the child away. Haman catches him and is delighted when he threatens Mineva to ensure safe passage, since it means he no longer holds the moral high ground over her (insofar as using others to get what she wants). A small victory, suggesting to her mind that he has started to see things her way.

Judau is not willing to actually harm a child and returns Mineva, over the double's protests since she can no longer stand being trapped as a tool for Haman's ambitions. Surprisingly, Haman keeps her word, allowing Judau and fellow pilot Roux to leave the palace grounds in exchange for surrendering their 'captive' and ordering her men not to 'disgrace her honour'. It's a hollow promise since she immediately tries to trap the escapees inside the colony and have them killed, but it's significant, since we've not been given any indication before that Haman has a sense of honour.

This said, we certainly have every reason to believe she has a sense of pride.

The civil war kicks into high gear, Glemy and Haman's forces tear each other apart, and eventually the would-be usurper meets his doom at Roux's hands. This leaves Haman the victor on paper but with she and Judau orbiting one another closer and closer, they both accept a final duel is inevitable. Over the protests of her remaining subordinates, she boards her Qubeley, the mobile suit she used to beat Char all the way back at the end of Zeta, claiming aloud that Judau is already subject to her will.

This is a last bit of acting. Safe in the privacy of the Qubeley's cockpit, she expresses frustration that Judau has driven her to don a normal suit, a beat recapitulating the end of the original Gundam series. Char, who habitually declineed to wear a spacesuit out of a belief it would make little difference were he to suffer defeat, agrees to do so in order to soothe another character's worries. Here, it is Haman's fear, of a "mere child", that drives her to take the same precaution.

For once, her mode of dress has nothing to do with furthering her goals. This choice is made out of concern for her life, which perhaps above all explains exactly why she should have become so obsessed with conquering Judau in particular.

He scares her. He will not be controlled and he sent her running, overwhelmed by his presence. How could she possibly let him live after that?

Haman is an extremely proud woman. She will not suffer to be seen publicly breaking her word and doesn't - cannot - hide her ambitions. Where another leader might have delegated spy-work at a crucial time, she goes herself. She does not trust others to act of their own free will, manipulating and brainwashing them into extensions of herself. She does not trust other people full stop. That's the irreconcilable difference between her and Judau, who loves those around him and retains faith in ordinary human beings.

So they fight, screaming their philosophies at one another, each stubborn and defiant and convinced they're right, Haman proving as emotionally driven as the boy she laughed at for still possessing mercy. There is nothing logical about fighting him fair and square but this is precisely what she does, refraining from using the full extent of the Qubeley's abilities so she might match Judau one on one, pilot to pilot.

If she couldn't beat him on her own, what would be the point?

But Judau doesn't fight alone. The souls of newtypes fallen in battles Haman shares the blame for starting come to his aid, driving her back and giving him the power to overcome her. When the final blows are struck, she is left the loser and though he reaches for her, true to his nature, trying to save her life, she defies his compassion, proud to the very end.

At the same time, she says she is glad to have met this "strong child" who has beaten her. She proceeded on the basis that everyone was alone and the hope of greater understanding promised by newtype abilities was, in essence, a lie. If there existed no possibility harmonious cooperation would overturn the Federation's indifference, then of course the only way to prosper was to seize control of everything and everyone. Yet Judau proves the chance of a different path remains.

As she choses death over living with defeat, Haman looks the most content we ever see her. Her spirit, blasted loose as the Qubeley is destroyed, smiles joyfully. Her helmet, opened moments prior, is gone, leaving her hair to billow wild. The embellishments to her normal suit are likewise loosened, lines softened by the implied force of the explosion.

Haman Karn dies undone, no longer the carefully composed centre of a lonely universe, not even the posed teenager seen in flashback, but instead freed from her own stage-management.

And at last she is happy.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 15

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A/N I might not get the chance to look at my inbox properly until tomorrow afternoon but I finally got around to finishing and polishing ch15 and wanted to post it before I forgot <3

Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing at first, but there was something almost indulgent in the way he regarded you, as if he found your amusement at his answer amusing in turn. Then, without another word, he took a seat at the harpsichord, his fingers poised over the keys. You weren’t sure what you had expected but the first few notes he played were enough to make you fall silent.

The first note rang out, crisp and clear, reverberating through the vast chamber like a ripple across still water. It was not merely sound it was a presence, filling every corner of the space, settling deep into your bones. The harpsichord’s voice was unlike any instrument you had ever heard before, bright, articulate, but carrying an undeniable weight, as if each note was a carefully chosen word in a language older than time itself. And at the center of it all was him. Shadow Milk Cookie was seated before the grand instrument, and in that moment, he looked untouchable.

The afternoon light filtering through the high-arched windows illuminated him in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if even the sun wished to acknowledge his presence. His robes, always refined, seemed richer in this setting deep celestial blue, embroidered with delicate gold constellations that shimmered when he moved. But it was his hair that held you captive.

It was like a galaxy unfurled, dark sapphire at the roots before fading into a luminous, ethereal blue, each strand shifting as though it contained the movement of the night sky itself. Stars tiny, glimmering motes dusted his locks, flickering like distant constellations caught in the ever-changing current of his hair. It moved as though it belonged to something greater than mere gravity, undulating softly, as if stirred by an unseen cosmic tide.

And then there were his eyes. One blue, deep and unfathomable like an ocean at midnight. The other gold, gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance, as if alight with the very knowledge he so devotedly pursued. Together, they carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine, wisdom beyond years, mysteries yet unraveled.

They were eyes that had seen truths most could never hope to comprehend, and yet, as he played, they softened, half-lidded with a focus so pure it was almost reverent. You could hardly breathe. His hands glided over the keys with effortless precision, fingers weaving melody and meaning together in a way that felt intentional, as though each note carried an unspoken truth, meant only for those willing to listen. He did not simply play the harpsichord he commanded it, coaxed from it something both powerful and delicate. You watched, utterly transfixed.

He was magnificent. Like something out of a masterful painting, framed in golden light, captured in a moment of pure artistry. It felt unreal to be witnessing him like this, to see him immersed in something beyond lectures and research, beyond the unshakable composure he so often maintained. There was something deeply human about the way he played his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the keys on certain phrases, the faintest movement of his lips as if he were silently following the melody, the way his shoulders subtly tensed with the weight of emotion woven into each note.

Your heart thundered against your ribs. Your fingers twitched before coming to rest over your chest, pressing lightly against your sternum, a subconscious attempt to steady the overwhelming sensation blooming there. But the moment your hand made contact, realization struck, and you quickly dropped it, as if burned. No. That wasn’t your intention. It wasn’t that. …Was it? You pushed the thought aside, gripping the hem of your sleeve to ground yourself. And yet, no matter how you tried to suppress it, the feeling remained. A warmth, curling in your chest, persistent and unfamiliar. The piece swelled toward its conclusion, cascading notes falling like stars scattered across the sky. Then, at last, the final chord resonated through the air, ringing out before dissolving into silence. The absence of sound was almost startling. You exhaled, only now realizing you had been holding your breath. For a moment, you could only sit there, stunned, the weight of what you had just experienced settling over you. It was beautiful, so achingly beautiful that you felt something tighten in your throat, a prickle at the corners of your eyes that you hastily blinked away.

“…I’ve never heard anyone play the harpsichord before,” you admitted, your voice quieter than intended. It felt almost wrong to speak after such a performance, as if words might shatter the delicate atmosphere that still lingered in the air.

Shadow Milk Cookie finally turned to look at you. You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered, how his golden eye glowed just a little brighter in the afternoon light, or the way the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. You didn’t see the way he studied you, taking in your expression with a knowing softness, as if the reaction he had just drawn from you was one he had anticipated all along. But he had noticed. He had noticed everything. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, lingering like the final note of his performance. You were still caught in it, still holding onto the last echoes of sound in your mind, unwilling to let them fade completely. Your breath felt unsteady, your thoughts even more so. And then, at last, Shadow Milk Cookie spoke. “Did you enjoy it?”

His voice was soft, smoother than usual, as if the music had softened him in turn. It was not the theatrical cadence he often used when debating, nor the measured patience he carried when tutoring. No this was something quieter, something almost intimate. You swallowed, still processing everything you had just heard, everything you had just felt.

“I…” You hesitated, then exhaled, your fingers curling against your knee. “It was… breathtaking.” You looked down, gathering your thoughts. “I've never heard anything like it before. The way you play… it’s like” Words failed you. Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, his golden eye glinting with curiosity. “Like?” You clenched your jaw, searching for something, anything, that could do justice to what you had just experienced. But how did you describe something like this? How did you explain the way each note had wrapped around your heart, the way it had stolen the breath from your lungs, the way it had made you feel as if you were witnessing something rare, something precious?

“…Like the stars are singing,” you finally said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like a story without words like something you don’t just hear, but understand somewhere deep inside.”

His expression didn’t change immediately, but for the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze. His hair, ever shifting like the cosmos itself, rippled with a subtle glow, as if stirred by unseen stardust. Then, with a hum of amusement, he leaned back slightly, his fingers idly ghosting over the keys. “A most poetic description,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “But then again… I suppose you’ve been listening more closely as of late.”

You blinked, his words settling in your mind with a strange weight. Had you? Before, you would have struggled to keep up with his lectures, grasping at concepts like sand slipping through your fingers. But now, you found yourself hanging onto every word, every note, every subtle shift in his expression as he played. You had been listening really listening. And he had noticed. The realization sent something warm curling through your chest, but you pushed it down before it could take root. Instead, you cleared your throat, your gaze flickering to the harpsichord beneath his hands.

“…You told me you composed music,” you said carefully. “Was that piece one of yours?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled for a moment. Then, he exhaled through his nose, almost as if he were smiling. “It was.” Something in your chest tightened.

“…Then you’re even more brilliant than I thought.” The words left you before you could reconsider them, but the sincerity in your voice was undeniable. This time, there was no mistaking it his lips quirked into the faintest, most fleeting hint of a smile. And though the silence returned, it no longer felt heavy. It was different now lighter, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you had the words for just yet.

You exhaled slowly, still trying to collect yourself after everything you had just witnessed. The music, the way he carried himself, the sheer grandeur of it all it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. And yet, amid the awe still thrumming in your chest, curiosity tugged at the edges of your thoughts. You glanced at him, watching as his fingers idly traced over the harpsichord keys, not pressing them, just… lingering. Almost absentmindedly. “…How many people have you played for before?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t look at you immediately. His golden eye flickered with something unreadable, while his blue eye like the deep cosmos swirling in endless motion remained calm, contemplative. “Why do you ask?” he finally said, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated. “I just… I mean, people talk. It’s rumored that you’ve played before. So I figured… well, many people must have seen you by now.” A soft hum left him, almost thoughtful. He rested his hands properly over the keys again, though he made no move to play. His gaze drifted, as if sorting through distant memories, his starlit hair shifting ever so slightly, shimmering under the afternoon light that filtered through the window.

“…Fewer than you might think,” he said at last. That caught you off guard. You blinked. “Really?” He glanced at you then, his expression unreadable but patient, as though waiting to see what you would make of that answer. You frowned slightly.

“But… you’re you.” You gestured vaguely, still struggling to fully wrap your head around it. “You’re well, the Sage of Truth. You’ve taught so many scholars, given countless lectures, been part of some of the most renowned research studies in the Academy’s history. I just assumed that if you played, people would want to hear it. That they have heard it.”

His lips quirked ever so slightly, something almost resembling amusement flickering in his gaze. “I do not perform for an audience, if that is what you mean.” You stared at him.

“…You don’t?” He exhaled through his nose, shifting his hands slightly over the keys, but still not pressing them. “Music is a discipline much like any other. It requires practice, precision, and understanding. When I compose, it is not for the sake of spectacle.” He cast a glance at you, his gold and blue eyes gleaming with quiet intent.

“It is for the sake of expression.” Your breath hitched slightly. Something about the way he said it; so assured, so firm, yet with a weight that made your chest tighten struck you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Expression. Something for himself. Not for the Academy. Not for prestige. Not for a title or a research paper. Just… for him. You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly in your lap.

“Then… I was lucky to hear it?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps.” The warmth curling in your chest deepened. You glanced down, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, but you couldn’t help it. The realization was settling now, sinking into your bones.

You weren’t just one of many. You were one of the few. You felt warmth creeping up your neck, embarrassment curling into your chest like an uninvited guest. It wasn’t that he had said anything particularly bold, nothing overt or damning yet the weight of his words, the knowledge that you had just witnessed something intimate, something not meant for the masses, made your heart stutter.

You weren’t sure why it felt so monumental. Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap before you shifted, glancing away, feigning a sudden interest in the other instruments scattered throughout the room. There were violins neatly arranged on a stand, their lacquered wood catching the afternoon light. A cello rested in the corner, its strings taut with readiness. Various wind instruments lay in careful display cases, alongside aged manuscripts of compositions that must have belonged to scholars long before your time.

“This room is… really something,” you murmured, hoping your voice came out steady. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you. His stare was nothing like the prying, judgmental eyes of a crowded lecture hall. He had the kind of presence that naturally commanded attention, but when his gaze settled on you, it felt… bearable. Pleasant, even. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization. “Indeed,” he finally said, his voice as composed as ever.

“Each of these instruments has its own history, some crafted by artisans long forgotten, others once belonging to scholars whose names remain etched in time. Music, like truth, is eternal in its preservation.”

You nodded, trying to focus on anything but the way his words sent a quiet shiver down your spine. “Do you ever play anything else?” you asked, tracing the outline of a delicate lyre resting on a nearby stand. There was a slight pause before he answered. “I have studied several,” he admitted. “But none call to me quite like the harpsichord.” You glanced at him again, your face still warm but no longer burning.

“That makes sense,” you said with a small smile. “It suits you.” His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. For a brief moment, you wondered if you had said too much, if you had allowed something to slip through the careful barrier you had built between admiration and something else entirely. But then he simply nodded, turning his gaze toward the instruments once more, and the moment passed like a quiet note fading into stillness. You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you brushed your fingers along the polished wood of the lyre. “I always wanted to be musically talented,” you admitted, glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie before turning back to the instrument.

“When I was younger, I really wanted to learn the guitar.” You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as if picturing yourself in some long-gone moment, struggling with chords that never quite sounded right. “But I was so bad at it. I mean, really bad.” You laughed at yourself, the memory distant enough that you could find humor in it now. “At some point, my teacher just very gently suggested that maybe I should try singing instead.” Your fingers traced along the delicate carvings of the lyre’s frame as you added, “Apparently, playing wasn’t really in the cards for me.” Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a moment, though you could still feel his presence beside you, his gaze steady, unreadable as always. Then, after a beat, he hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps it was not a matter of talent,” he mused, “but rather that your hands were searching for the wrong instrument.” His words made you pause. You turned to him, brow slightly furrowed. “What do you mean?” He regarded you with something softer than his usual sharp intensity, something thoughtful, considering.

“Not every scholar finds their truth in the same pursuit,” he said simply. “Just as some seek knowledge in tomes and others in the world itself, music too has its own avenues. One must find the medium that allows them to express what words cannot.” You blinked, absorbing his words.

“So… you’re saying I just haven’t found the right instrument?” “Precisely.” His gold and blue eyes gleamed, his expression as composed as ever, yet there was something almost… expectant in the way he looked at you. Your gaze drifted back to the instruments around the room. It was a nice thought, the idea that maybe just maybe you hadn’t failed, but simply hadn’t found the right voice through which to speak. Still, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, unless there’s an instrument out there that requires absolutely no coordination, I think I’ll stick to listening.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips quirked, amusement barely visible in the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps you were meant to be an audience rather than a performer.”

You smiled, glancing at him again. “I think I’m okay with that.” Your gaze lingered on the instruments, fingers still ghosting over the intricate carvings on the lyre. The weight of the conversation settled in your mind; his words, the music, the feeling of witnessing something rare and deeply personal. It was almost too much, too grand for something as ordinary as a tutoring session. A tutoring session.

That thought struck you suddenly, like a chime breaking through the hush of a quiet room. How much time had passed? You glanced toward the tall windows lining the far wall, their glass panes streaked with the golden light of the afternoon sun. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, the world outside continuing on without you while you sat in the Scholar’s Wing, listening to music that left your heart aching in ways you weren’t entirely sure how to name. You hesitated before speaking, reluctant to break the quiet atmosphere you had both fallen into.

“I… suppose that means there’s less time for tutoring now,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to him. Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, his gaze still unreadable. If he had noticed the time slipping away, he made no indication of it. Instead, he merely tilted his head, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips. “Do you regret it?” he asked. The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, at the way the light touched the edges of his hair, making the deep blues shimmer like a night sky scattered with distant stars. Regret? No. That wasn’t the right word at all.

You shook your head, a small, almost sheepish smile pulling at your lips. “No,” you admitted. “Not at all.” His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes shifted something unreadable yet warm, as if he had expected your answer and found it… satisfactory. “Then the time was not wasted.” You let out a quiet breath, allowing yourself to relax. No, it wasn’t wasted at all. The weight of the moment lingered between you, the echoes of the harpsichord’s melody still curling through your thoughts. You glanced toward the door, then back at Shadow Milk Cookie, suddenly feeling the need to ground yourself again to return to the familiar, to your friends, to the usual rhythm of your days. “We should probably go,” you said, shifting slightly where you stood.

“It’s almost time for dinner, and I really don’t want to deal with the rush of hungry people.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before standing smoothly, his robes catching the afternoon light like a shifting night sky. “A prudent decision,” he murmured, his voice rich with its usual refinement. “There is a particular ferocity that emerges when scholars are deprived of sustenance.” You let out a small, amused breath. “Dramatic, but not inaccurate.” He gestured for you to walk ahead, and together, the two of you left the quiet sanctuary of the music room. The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were hushed, save for the occasional murmuring conversation in passing. Shadow Milk Cookie walked with you at a measured pace, and it wasn’t until you were nearing his office where your things still waited that he spoke again. “Which of your friends will be there?” he asked, his tone casual. The question didn’t strike you as odd. If anything, it was expected he had encountered your friends before, even in passing. “Chai Latte, for sure. Hazelnut and Earl Grey too, probably,” you answered. “We usually eat together.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in understanding, his gaze briefly flickering ahead before settling back on you. There was something unreadable in his expression, but it was gone before you could think too much of it. The two of you reached his office, and as you stepped inside to gather your belongings, you found yourself glancing at him once more. He had already moved toward his desk, absentmindedly adjusting the placement of a few scattered notes. It was strange this entire evening. Not in a bad way, just… different. And yet, as you slung your bag over your shoulder and turned back toward him, you found yourself hesitating for just a second longer. You shot him a curious glance, adjusting the strap of your bag as you gathered your things. “Why do you ask?”

Shadow Milk Cookie barely paused, his fingers still idly arranging the papers on his desk. “Simple curiosity.” His voice was smooth, as if the question held no deeper meaning. “You often speak of them, and I am merely observing the consistency of your patterns.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

“Right… same as always, then. Chai Latte, Hazelnut, Earl Grey. My usual group.” You lingered by the door for a moment before adding, “If you wanted to join us, I don’t think they’d mind.” His hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before he resumed his movements, expression as poised as ever. “An intriguing proposition,” he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“However, I believe my presence would be… an unexpected variable in your usual dynamic.” You blinked. “I mean, probably, but it’s not like we’d mind. They already know I’ve been studying with you. It wouldn’t be that weird.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with that same measured look, the kind that always made you feel like he was studying something just beyond your own understanding. Then, after a moment, he exhaled softly, his gaze briefly drifting toward the window. “A gracious offer,” he finally said, “but one I shall decline. For now.” There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder if, perhaps, he had considered it more seriously than he let on. But before you could dwell on it, he was already moving toward the door, gesturing for you to step out first. “Come,” he said. “You wished to avoid the rush, did you not?” And with that, the conversation slipped away, leaving behind only the faintest thread of curiosity lingering in its place.

You let out a small chuckle, adjusting your bag as you followed him toward the door. “What, have I overstayed my welcome?” you teased, glancing up at him with a grin. Shadow Milk Cookie paused, just for a moment. His golden eye glimmered with something unreadable before he turned his gaze forward once more. “Hardly,” he said smoothly. “If that were the case, you would have known.” His tone was even, his words poised but something about them made your stomach do an odd little flip. You scoffed, shaking your head. “Right, because you’d be so subtle about it.”

“A scholar must be direct in their findings,” he remarked, the faintest trace of amusement threading through his voice. “If you had, as you say, overstayed, you would be informed immediately and without hesitation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good to know.” Still, as the two of you stepped into the dim corridors of the Scholar’s Wing, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, if anything, you had been welcome for far longer than you realized. As you reached the threshold of the Scholar’s Wing, where the lantern-lit corridors gave way to the more bustling walkways of the Academy, you slowed your steps, hesitating for a moment before turning back to him.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood there, watching you with that ever-measured gaze, the soft glow of the nearby sconces catching in his deep blue and gold eyes. His presence, as always, felt larger than the space around him contained, yet vast, like an endless sky just waiting beyond the reach of your fingertips.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, feigning a casual air despite the odd flutter in your chest. “Same time tomorrow?” you asked, as if it weren’t already set in stone, as if you didn’t already know you’d be here again without question. The corner of his lips curled, just slightly. He tilted his head, considering you.

“Have you already forgotten our schedule?” You huffed, pretending to scoff. “Just making sure,” you muttered. It was an excuse, flimsy at best. You just… didn’t want to leave without saying something else. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in the way he regarded you, something quiet, something thoughtful. Then, with the same practiced ease he always carried, he dipped his head ever so slightly.

“Tomorrow, then,” he confirmed. Satisfied though you weren’t sure why you nodded. “Alright. See you.” You turned on your heel, making your way toward the main halls, but even as you walked, you could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he, too, disappeared into the depths of the Scholar’s Wing. The dining hall was comfortably full but not yet overrun, the earlier dinner rush having already passed. You slipped into your usual seat with ease, the warmth of familiar company grounding you. Chai Latte Cookie barely gave you time to set down your tray before leaning in, her eyes flickering with mischief.

“You’re not late this time,” she noted, propping her chin on her hand. “Color me surprised.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie barely looked up from his notes, adjusting his reading glasses. “What a miracle.” Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, studied you with a glance brief, but precise, like he was peeling back layers of an unseen puzzle. You ignored all of them, focusing instead on your food. Or at least, you tried to. But you must have hesitated too long, because Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing smile softened, her voice dipping just a little quieter. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said, too casually. You poked at your meal, as if arranging it just right would somehow erase whatever it was that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t nothing, though. It was the image of long, elegant fingers dancing across harpsichord keys, of stardust-swept hair catching the soft glow of lamplight, of a gaze that held something unreadable, something you hadn’t had the courage to decipher. It was the lingering echo of music that had never touched your ears before today. And it was the way you felt, sitting there, recalling it not just admiration, not just awe, but something else. Something quieter. Something you didn’t quite know how to name.

“You’re thinking about something,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed out. Earl Grey Cookie turned a page in his book but didn’t look away from you. “Or someone.” Your fork clattered against your plate. “I was not ” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, reaching for her drink. “Mmm. If you say so.” You buried your face in your hands. Because the worst part? You didn’t even know if they were wrong. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, eyes sparkling with amusement as she swirled her drink lazily. “You’ve got a look,” she mused, her tone far too knowing for your liking. You blinked. “A… look?”

She grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “Mhm. I know that look.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow but didn’t comment, while Earl Grey Cookie merely observed in silence, waiting. You huffed, turning your attention back to your food. “I don’t have a look.” Chai Latte Cookie just laughed. “Oh, but you do. It’s that soft, far-off, thinking-about-someone look.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving you.

“And I have never seen it on you before.” Your whole body stiffened. “I ” You faltered, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Because was that what this was? You weren’t… thinking about him like that, were you? You were just caught up in the moment, in the music, in the sheer unexpectedness of seeing Shadow Milk Cookie the Sage of Truth doing something so… human. That was all. Wasn’t it? Chai Latte Cookie didn’t press further, but the knowing curve of her lips told you she’d already drawn her own conclusions. And the worst part? You weren’t sure you could argue against them. “Do you guys think you’d wait an eternity for someone?” You asked wistfully a question you were still hung up on. The story from the city lingering, latched onto your heart like a tick.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful smile softened as she swirled her drink in her hands, the dim light of the dining hall reflecting in her eyes. “You’re still thinking about that story, huh?” You nodded, glancing down at your plate. The tale had lingered in your mind ever since you heard it, refusing to be forgotten. “I just… I keep wondering. Could someone really wait that long? A hundred years, just for a single moment with someone?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie exhaled through his nose, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “If they had no other choice, maybe. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be agonizing.” Earl Grey Cookie, ever thoughtful, tapped a finger against the table. “It depends on what they’re waiting for. If they knew, without a doubt, that they’d see their beloved again even after a century then perhaps the waiting wouldn’t feel like suffering. But if there was no guarantee…” He trailed off, his expression unreadable. You swallowed.

“I don’t know if I could do it.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing glint in her gaze. “I think it’s less about whether you could and more about whether you’d want to. If someone meant that much to you, maybe time wouldn’t matter at all.” That struck something deep within you. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a short breath. “Still sounds tragic to me.”

Chai Latte Cookie chuckled. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t invested in the story. You were the one who insisted we stay and listen to the end.”

 “I appreciate good storytelling,” he replied smoothly, but the tips of his ears were a little pink. You shook your head, smiling faintly, but the weight of the question still pressed on your mind. Chai Latte Cookie studied you, then reached across the table, her fingers just brushing yours. “Are you asking because you’re curious? Or because you’re wondering?”

Your breath hitched slightly. You weren’t sure. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you just wanted to understand the kind of love that could last beyond time itself. But before you could dwell on it further, Chai Latte Cookie gave your hand a gentle squeeze and grinned. “Well, if you ever decide to wait a hundred years for someone, let me know. I’ll wait right there with you.” You laughed, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather not wait that long at all.” But something in your chest tightened, a quiet, unspoken feeling curling at the edges of your thoughts. Because wasn’t that the whole point of the story? Sometimes, the choice wasn’t yours to make.

Chai Latte Cookie’s playful energy dimmed, her gaze soft as she watched you, fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. “Is it the Sage of Truth?” Her voice lacked its usual teasing lilt no laughter, no playful nudges. Just quiet understanding, the kind that only a close friend could offer. Your breath caught in your throat. “What?” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know you, you know? And I know that look. You’re thinking about someone, and it’s not just because of some ghost story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie set his utensils down, leveling you with a knowing glance.

“Chai’s not wrong. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been stirring his tea with methodical patience, finally looked up. “You never used to care about staying late to study. Now, you act like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

You fumbled for words. “I-he’s just tutoring me. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “I’m not saying you have feelings for him.” A pause. “But if you did” 

“I don’t.” She gave you a look, unimpressed. “Okay. But if you did, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Your fingers curled around your fork, a tightness settling in your chest. “I don’t see why that would happen.” Chai Latte Cookie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “It’s fun to joke and tease about it, yeah, but…” She glanced away for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“I don’t think you should get your hopes up. Not because it’s impossible, or because I don’t support you, but because realistically nothing good could come from it.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie crossed his arms, nodding. “Nobody really knows much about him. He’s private. Guarded.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses. “And to be blunt, we don’t even know if he’s single.” That made you freeze. “You mean…?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose. “He’s so private, he could already be spoken for, and we wouldn’t know.”

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest, heavy with unspoken weight. Earl Grey Cookie looked at you carefully, his voice even. “I’m not saying this to discourage you. But you have to admit, for all the time you’ve spent around him… how much do you really know about him?” You hated that you didn’t have an answer. The Sage of Truth Shadow Milk Cookie was… unfathomable. A beacon of knowledge. Someone revered, admired, respected. But beyond the theatrical wisdom and the careful distance he always maintained, what was there? You realized, with a quiet sort of dread, that you weren’t sure. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a slow breath. “We just don’t want you to set yourself up for something that might never happen. And if he really was with someone ”

“I know,” you cut in, voice quieter than you expected. “I get it.” Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers warm against yours. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I know.” But deep down, the uncertainty lingered. Chai Latte Cookie’s fingers tightened around yours, grounding, steady. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice a gentle lull, like waves against the shore. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You shook your head, but the motion felt half-hearted. A dull ache settled in the pit of your stomach, something quiet and gnawing. They’re right. Of course they’re right. Who is Shadow Milk Cookie? You’ve seen only glimpses of a scholar wrapped in truth, untouchable, illuminated like a figure from a painting. He reveals knowledge like pulling back a veil, but never himself. And yet… he’s seen you. The thought twists like a knife. You’ve bared your struggles to him, your weaknesses laid out like an open book. He’s seen you hesitate, stumble, fail, watched as you fumbled through lessons, watched as you grew. You had nothing to hide, no layers of mystery, no grand secrets. But him? He was always just out of reach. Always the untouchable scholar, his mind an endless expanse of wisdom, while you were just… you.

It feels unfair. Chai Latte Cookie must see something on your face because before you can say anything, she pulls you in, arms wrapping around you, her warmth pressing the ache deeper into your chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice close to your ear. “I didn’t want to make you feel like this.” You breathe in, her scent familiar, spiced tea, something sweet beneath it. It makes the ache worse, somehow. You swallow past the tightness in your throat.

“It’s okay,” you manage, though your voice is unsteady. “It’s not,” she says, softer this time. Your fingers dig into the fabric of her sleeve, just for a second. You don’t know what you’re feeling, but it sits heavy in your ribs, uncomfortable and raw. “I just…” You hesitate, trying to find the words.

“I’ve spent all this time with him, but I don’t really know him. And he ” Your throat tightens. “He knows me.” Chai Latte Cookie pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows knitting together in concern. “That’s not fair to you.” You let out a breathy laugh, but it holds no real humor.

“I know.” She studies you for a long moment before sighing, brushing her thumb over the back of your hand. “Listen,” she says gently. “If you ever need to talk about this, and I mean really talk about it, I'm here, okay?” You nod, though the ache doesn’t fade. Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie haven’t spoken, but they watch you carefully, offering presence in place of words. You appreciate it. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip lingers a moment longer before she finally lets go, smiling, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Come on,” she says, nudging her cup toward you.

“Drink. It’ll make you feel better.” You don’t know if it will. But you take the cup anyway. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shifted closer, his warmth a quiet reassurance, mirroring Chai Latte Cookie’s gestures with his own steady presence. He squeezed your shoulder, just firm enough to ground you. “You know,” he said, keeping his voice light, as if sensing you needed the softness, “you don’t have to figure everything out right now.” His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest tighten. Figure everything out? As if there was anything to figure out. As if this strange, lingering feeling inside you needed to be named.

But it did, didn’t it? You just weren’t ready to say it aloud. Earl Grey Cookie, ever poised, didn’t smother you in warmth the way the others did, but his presence was a balm in its own way. He adjusted his glasses with an air of careful deliberation before speaking.

“If something troubles you, it would be unwise to carry it alone,” he mused, his voice smooth as dark tea. “Emotions are like fine blends best shared, lest they become too bitter to swallow.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Are you comparing my feelings to tea?” Earl Grey Cookie’s lips quirked in a barely-there smile. “Would you expect any less from me?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, and even Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out an amused breath.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The dinner table felt heavier than it had when you arrived, your appetite dulled by the weight in your chest. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t even his fault. But you hadn’t realized, not until this moment, just how attached you’d become. And still, you told yourself it wasn’t anything more. But the dull ache in your chest wanted to say otherwise. Of course, your friends knew. They weren’t blind. They saw the way you lingered in your own thoughts, how your eyes softened at the mention of him, how your chest rose just a little lighter at the sound of his voice. But they wouldn’t say it for you. Not until you were ready.

And right now, you weren’t. So instead, you let them be there for you. You let Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s steady touch remind you that you weren’t alone. You let Chai Latte Cookie’s quiet warmth soothe the edges of your unease. You let Earl Grey Cookie’s careful words give you a sense of control, however fleeting. You let yourself be held in the way only friends could hold you. And for now, that was enough.

The gardens were quiet tonight. The faint hum of nocturnal magic wove through the air, barely perceptible beneath the rustling of the willows and the occasional ripple of the reflecting pool. You traced idle patterns into the stone bench beside you, your fingertips cool against its weathered surface. It was peaceful. It was yours. And yet, you were not at peace. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking under the weight of your own thoughts. Foolish, wasn't it? How much could change in the span of a day? How quickly a simple conversation could unravel something you had not even realized was fragile until now? You had sat at this very bench countless times before, but tonight, the air felt heavier.

Your friends had been right. Who was he, really? A figure of brilliance, a mind beyond compare, a presence that carried itself with an effortless grace. He was revered, admired, respected. His name was spoken with awe in the halls of the Academy, his intellect the kind that shaped scholars for generations to come. And you? You had only ever seen glimpses of him pieces of a much greater whole. And yet, in some foolish, unguarded way, you had allowed him to see you. It felt unfair. Your fingers curled into your palm.

You had seen something of him today that no lecture hall could capture, something beyond truth-seeking, beyond measured wisdom. A moment in which he was simply himself, the music flowing from his fingers, his expression softened with focus, his gaze distant yet utterly present. It had been mesmerizing. It had made your heart stutter in ways you did not wish to acknowledge. And now, here you were. Hiding away in the place you had once brought him, as if trying to reclaim something, as if trying to pull yourself back into the comfort of before. But even this place had changed. Because now, he had been here too. You let your head fall back, staring up through the willow branches. They swayed gently, their glow pulsing faintly in the darkness. A part of you wished you had never invited him. That you had never let him into your space, where you could pretend you were not affected. But another part of you… Another part of you was glad he had come.

The sky stretched endlessly above you, deep indigo melting into black, pricked with shimmering stars that scattered like flecks of silver dust. A familiar sight one you had gazed upon countless times before, from this very spot, no less. Yet tonight, it felt different. Or perhaps, you were different. You exhaled, watching as your breath curled faintly in the night air. You shouldn’t have been thinking about him. And yet, the stars only served as a reminder, twinkling reflections of his hair, that impossible cascade of dark silk shot through with light, shifting even in stillness. You could picture it perfectly, the way it had moved as he sat beside you, strands slipping over his shoulder like liquid dusk.

"It is… a reflection of who I am." 

Your own words came back to haunt you. "So that means… your true personality must be beautiful." A quiet warmth had settled in his golden eyes then, unreadable yet thoughtful, as if turning the words over in his mind. As if he had not expected them. And you? You had been so caught up in the moment, in the effortless rhythm of conversation, that you hadn’t realized, hadn’t understood what was happening. Not until now. Your fingers curled against the cool stone of the bench. What were you doing? You barely knew him. So what if he played the harpsichord? So what if his laughter, so rare, so carefully contained had managed to weave its way into your thoughts, lingering like the final note of a song long after the melody had faded? So what if his hair shimmered like a starry sky, if his presence felt like something grand yet unreachable, if his voice carried the weight of knowledge and mystery alike? What else did you actually know?

What was his favorite color? His favorite meal? Did he even have a favorite meal, or was he the type to forgo such simple pleasures in pursuit of loftier things? Who were his friends? Did he have any? You frowned. You had never once seen him linger with others outside of academic discussions. No quiet moments of shared meals in the dining halls, no casual conversations in the corridors. Only debates, lessons, the ever-constant pursuit of truth.

And yet… he had found you that day. Had sought you out. That should have meant something, shouldn’t it? But what if it didn’t? What if that was simply who he was, someone who never left questions unanswered? If he had sought you out, it wasn’t because he missed you. It wasn’t because he cared. It was because you had not shown up. Because he was expecting you. Your chest ached. It was foolish. It was foolish to have let yourself grow attached, to have let the glimpses of him a quiet laugh, a thoughtful gaze, the rare and fleeting moments of softness mean something. And yet, what was worse… was that it wasn’t his fault. He had never promised anything. He had never given you a reason to believe he was anything but what he had always been the Sage of Truth.

Not Shadow Milk, not the man beyond the title, beyond the wisdom, beyond the grandeur. Just the Sage. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your temples as if that might somehow ease the dull ache spreading through you. Was he taken? The thought struck like a cruel whisper, unwelcome and unbidden. You had no idea. He was private. Mysterious. The kind of person who could have been spoken for, deeply committed to someone, and no one would ever know. And if he was? You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your throat tightened. Then it had never been yours to hold onto in the first place. The wind stirred the willow branches above you, their leaves casting shifting shadows along the ground. The koi-like creatures in the reflecting pool swam lazily beneath the water, unbothered, unburdened. You envied them. Your hands fell limply into your lap, your shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all. You were just another student. He was the Sage of Truth.

And yet, the ache in your chest whispered that even knowing all of this, you would still meet him tomorrow. You would still listen to his voice, still try to understand the way his mind worked, still watch the way his golden eyes flickered with something warm, something almost gentle, whenever he looked at you.

Because despite everything, despite the foolishness of it all… You weren’t ready to let go. With a slow, heavy exhale, you let your shoulders slump, exhaustion settling over you like a thick, inescapable fog. What was the point in dragging yourself back to your dorm when sleep was already pulling at your limbs, threatening to drag you under? Here, beneath the willow’s gentle canopy, with the quiet rustling of leaves and the distant ripple of the reflecting pool, the world felt softer, less overwhelming.

It wasn’t as if anyone was here to stop you. You shifted slightly, curling in on yourself as you leaned back against the stone bench. The cool surface pressed against your spine, grounding you, yet offering no protest as you allowed your body to sink further into its embrace. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. The Academy felt so far away from here. The expectations, the lessons, the weight of failure all melted into the background, lost beneath the hum of the wind and the distant croak of a nightbird. Maybe, just for tonight, you didn’t have to think about anything. Not about your classes. Not about your struggles. Not about him. You exhaled one last time before letting sleep take you.

You awoke to the stiff ache of your neck protesting even the smallest movement. A dull, throbbing pain settled at the base of your skull, a punishment for the way you’d let yourself slump awkwardly on the stone bench overnight.

For a moment, you sat there, groggy and dazed, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the willow leaves. The Academy Gardens were still quiet, untouched by the usual morning bustle, and the air was crisp with the lingering scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. It would have been peaceful, had a sudden realization not struck you like a bucket of cold water.

What time was it?

Your stomach twisted as you scrambled upright, your joints aching from the awkward position you had slept in. Without even checking your reflection in the water, you grabbed your things and bolted from the garden, feet pounding against the mossy paths as you rushed toward the main halls. You barely made it through the doors, heart racing, before the bells signaling the start of the first period rang out.

You were disheveled.

Your uniform was wrinkled, a stray leaf still clung to your sleeve, and your hair...oh, you didn’t even want to think about your hair. You smoothed it down quickly as you ducked into the lecture hall, ignoring the curious glances from a few students already seated. Sliding into your usual spot, you caught your breath, trying to ignore the stiffness in your neck. You’d have to suffer through the day like this.

You slumped slightly in your seat, rolling your shoulder in a weak attempt to ease the stiffness in your neck as you waited for your friends. The morning rush had left you slightly winded, and you knew you must’ve looked a mess your uniform wrinkled, your hair hastily smoothed down but still undeniably unkempt, and a faint, lingering imprint on your cheek from where you’d pressed against the stone bench.

It wasn’t long before Chai Latte Cookie arrived, sliding into the seat beside you with a puzzled expression. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey followed shortly after, both eyeing you with quiet curiosity. “You weren’t at breakfast,” Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, tilting her head. “We were wondering where you went.” Hazelnut Biscotti frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses.

“We even thought you might’ve gone ahead, but clearly…” He gave you a once-over. “That wasn’t the case.” Earl Grey merely raised an eyebrow, but his silence spoke volumes. You smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to play it off. “I, uh… overslept.” Chai Latte Cookie blinked. “Overslept? Where? Your dorm?” You hesitated for half a second too long. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait.” Then she gasped, leaning in with a scandalized whisper.

“Did you not sleep in your bed?” Hazelnut Biscotti let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for the love of- don’t tell me you-” Before they could properly interrogate you, the lecture hall door swung open with a sharp clack, and Almond Custard Cookie strode in, posture straight and severe as always. The chatter in the room immediately died down as students straightened in their seats.

“Good morning,” he greeted, though his tone was as firm as ever. “I trust that you all have reviewed yesterday’s material.” You forced yourself to sit up properly, silently relieved by the well-timed interruption. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Chai Latte Cookie leaning just slightly in your direction. “This conversation isn’t over,” she murmured, voice laced with curiosity and concern in equal measure. You sighed. You’d have to deal with that later.

The lecture passed in a blur, your mind still fogged with the lingering exhaustion of a poor night’s sleep. Normally, you’d be the first to slip out of the classroom once dismissed, eager to avoid any unnecessary conversation or scrutiny. But today… there wasn’t much of a point. Chai Latte Cookie was a fast walker, and no matter how much of a head start you tried to get, she’d always catch up. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey, for all their composed exteriors, were equally determined when it came to making sure you were alright. There was no escaping them. So instead of making a run for it, you packed your things at a normal pace, bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Chai Latte Cookie looped her arm through yours the moment you stepped into the hallway, tugging you along with a knowing smile.

“So,” she began, tone as sweet as honey but sharp with intent. “Where did you sleep last night?” You sighed, your attempt at a sheepish grin doing little to disarm her. “Just… my favorite spot.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie groaned behind you.

“You slept on that stone bench again?”

“Wait, again?” Earl Grey Cookie echoed, raising an eyebrow. Chai Latte Cookie’s grip on your arm tightened slightly in a way that told you she was not letting this slide. “No wonder you look like you got steamrolled. Do you know how bad that is for your back?” You rolled your shoulders, still feeling the stiff ache in your neck. “It’s fine.”

 “It’s not fine,” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Earl Grey sighed through his nose, his expression unreadable as he studied you. “We would have woken you this morning,” he said, tone softer than usual. “If we had known, that is.”

You looked away, guilt creeping up your spine. You hadn’t meant to worry them. Chai Latte Cookie sighed, letting go of your arm only to poke your forehead lightly. “Next time, just tell us, okay? You don’t have to wander off alone when you’re feeling down.”

Hazelnut Biscotti huffed. “Or at the very least, pick somewhere comfortable to mope.” You let out a small, tired laugh. “Noted.” Your friends exchanged glances, clearly still unconvinced, but they didn’t push further not yet, at least. Instead, Chai Latte Cookie simply linked her arm with yours again and led the way down the hall, her warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. No matter how much of a mess you felt like, they weren’t going to leave you alone. You weren’t sure you minded.

“So,” she began, her voice light but far too knowing. “Care to explain why you slept on that bench?”

“I wasn’t moping, if that’s what you’re all thinking.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie hummed, arching his brow clearly unconvinced. “No one said you were.” You shot him a pointed look. He was gaslighting you. “But since you brought it up…” 

“I wasn’t!” you insisted, exasperated. “I just… needed some fresh air. That’s all.” Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, considering. “Fresh air, huh?” You nodded quickly. “Yes. Fresh air. Perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable fresh air.” Earl Grey finally spoke, his voice as smooth as ever. “And this fresh air just happened to lull you to sleep on a cold stone bench?” You huffed. “It wasn’t cold.”

Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “That is not the point.” Chai Latte sighed, resting her chin against your shoulder as she continued to walk beside you. “You know, if you wanted fresh air so badly, you could’ve told us. We would’ve gone with you.”

You felt a pang of guilt but shrugged it off. “I didn’t want to bother you.” Earl Grey gave you a pointed look. “And yet, here we are, bothered.” You winced. Okay, maybe that was fair. Chai Latte pulled away just enough to nudge your side. “Next time, tell us. You’re not alone, you know?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “Seriously. If you’re going to have a lone sleepover outside your dorm, at least let us know before we have to find out about it.” You hesitated, but the way they all looked at you the concern that lingered just beneath their teasing made something in your chest feel uncomfortably tight. “…Fine,” you relented, rolling your eyes.

“Next time, I’ll say something.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, satisfied, while Hazelnut Biscotti just sighed in relief. Earl Grey, though, watched you for a moment longer before giving you a small nod, as if he knew there was more you weren’t saying but that he’d wait until you were ready. For now, at least, they let the matter rest. But you had no doubt they’d be keeping an even closer eye on you.

The day slipped past in a haze of half-heard lectures and half-hearted notes. You weren’t absent, your body remained in its seat, your pen moved, your eyes followed the text but your mind drifted, floating somewhere between the shimmering stars of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair and the quiet ache lodged deep in your chest. You weren’t moping. You were just… preoccupied. When the time came for tutoring, your legs carried you forward on instinct, muscle memory guiding you through the halls as though you had no say in the matter. You considered turning back, skipping, just this once. But that would only make things worse.

A/N #2 My exam is tomorrow I feel prepared but still worried about a couple reactions...but I'm still going to do my best also once my exam is done the chains keeping me from my freedom will have been broken yippeee!!! no update tomorrow but probably Wednesday <3 anyways...thanks for being patient these past 4 days have felt like an eternity without speaking to y'all...I will be back in full force and answering questions once I'm fully liberated...my inbox is like piling up so I'll get started on that soon...ALSO I separated the paragraphs more hopefully that makes it easier to read, if not, pls lmk in the comments thanks <3 (I just realized I posted the version where i deleted and added things so some of the transitions are off UPDATE: It's FIXED this time its fr thanks for letting me know something was off in the comments <3)

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 3

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: Grief/depression

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty. 

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile. 

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter. 

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth. 

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected. 

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity. 

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts. 

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.” 

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set. 

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court. 

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed. 

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you. 

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord. 

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force. 

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered. 

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish. 

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze. 

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table. 

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.” 

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae. 

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin. 

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees. 

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw. 

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it. 

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little. 

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking. 

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked. 

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it. 

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare. 

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head. 

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing. 

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord? 

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else. 

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.  

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock. 

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow. 

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors. 

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor. 

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book. 

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house. 

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be. 

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud. 

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion. 

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.” 

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks. 

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow. 

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort. 

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile. 

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend. 

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity. 

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked. 

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic. 

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone. 

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor. 

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor. 

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common. 

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl. 

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.” 

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down. 

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented. 

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue. 

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms. 

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys. 

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. 

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his. 

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.” 

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.” 

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face. 

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face. 

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them. 

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago. 

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled. 

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively. 

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity. 

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence. 

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said. 

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful. 

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them. 

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper. 

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home. 

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

Part 4>>>>

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

Also how the Inner Curcle is just falling to shit without her 💅🏼 I so look forward to exploring the TEA at this wedding.... I always want to know what you guys think, so feel free to drop a comment, and if you'd like to join my general tag list, or just for Our Girl, drop a comment too :) Thank you always for your support <3

[stardustamaryllis78]

Hey, do you guys remember when these two were actually compelling characters?

Yeah, neither do I.

Bait is by far the most interesting character of these three and I'm not even joking.

But lets start at the beginning shall we?

Let's start off with Callum, the protagonist.

He is the son of Queen Sarai and step son of King Harrow 🐦 and the big brother of Prince or King Ezran, depends on which part of the show you're on. I guess spoiler if you haven't got past episode 3 where Pip dies and Harrow is forced to eat bird food for the rest of his life. (I have MASSIVE feelings about that "plot twist" but that's a potential post for another day.)

He struggles with the idea of being a prince because he believes he's not good at horse riding and sword fighting, things a prince should be good at.

Ignore the horse, Bait is the one clearly in charge, Callum doesn't know what he's doing.

All (kind of) jokes aside, he was dorky without being too annoying and him getting the Sky Primal Stone which in turn allowed him to use Sky magic which made him feel like he was for once good at something was interesting to watch, especially after he had to smash it to hatch a dying Zym and learn the Sky Arcanum through other means. A good well rounded character.

Then we have Rayla, who used to be one of my favourite characters.

Not anymore.

She was originally so snarky, sassy and feisty but in such a fascinating kind of way. She also had a kind and gentle heart and would do anything to help those in need. Plus, she had the inner struggle of being an assassin who cannot kill but that didn't really matter because she used her skills for the greater good anyway.

Its a shame her first and only kill in the show came in the form of herself.

Character assassination at its finest.

How did Rayla go from this:

To this:

Best Dragonguard of the century guys 👏

From a girl who would do anything to help others in need, even a dragon that would torch tons of innocent people to legit turning her back on a dragon in distress. This is not Rayla.

But how did it come to this you may ask? Well curious Tumblr reader, I have one simple answer. One simple answer that will burn so much of The Dragon Prince's fandom down and will cause an all out riot but let me just tell you, I'm speaking nothing but the truth.

The answer is:

Rayllum

Yep! Them becoming a duo literally murdered their characters and I still o7 them to this day 🫡

What was once two interesting characters who found solace in each other and set off together (and Ezran was there as the third wheel) to stop a war spanning centuries became a poorly written soap opera.

So where did it go wrong?

I'm gonna sound like a broken record in saying SEASON 4 📢 HAHA!

But no, not season 4, it was actually before that.

It starts with Rayla leaving Callum the nicest birthday present anyone could give someone - ghosting them.

Now you'd think that Rayla would at least wait a day or two after Callum's birthday so he can have an enjoyable day first but nope! She decides to dip on whats supposed to be a happy day for him and make it miserable. What a woman! 👏

Now you could be saying to me, "But she needed to go with full urgency!" To which, no she did not. She went because it was a mission of revenge, something she LITERALLY said herself so she could have waited a few days but she chose instead to make someone she's supposed to love miserable on a day of happiness.

But okay, she dips and leaves Callum sad and miserable on his birthday. Surely when she returns, she apologizes right?

...Right?

I don't think arc 2 Rayla would understand the word sorry if it bit her right up where the Moon don't shine.

Anyways, its two years later (Yes, you heard me, two years) and Rayla decides to finally unghost Callum.

Now, Callum is understandably upset with Rayla after taking off on his birthday and leaving without saying goodbye. So whats Rayla's stance on this? Is she understanding?

Of course not, this is arc 2 Rayla we're talking about.

Imagine letting the guy she let down have some room to sort things out in his head. Crazy right?

But anyway, he eventually relents to Rayla because she won't shut up in typical Rayla fashion and they both snooze on the couch.

This kind of soap opera drama goes on for THE ENTIRE SEASON while they just gradually "make up" and its just such contrived conflict. Especially as nothing came of Rayla leaving for those two years and it happened off screen.

Plus, her not taking accountability for her actions is a big deal.

Sadly the writers did it with this ship. ^

I love Red Herring story lines that are spent so much time on and are SUPER built up only to have literally no impact on the plot whatsoever. 🤗

Loved wasting my time on the Dark Magic Callum story line.

BUT HEY, he did get some great looking tooth-paste in his hair! 🪥 Looks great on you Callum. 🤥

Now however, I must talk about the most beloved of all seasons and no, I don't mean season 6 or 3.

Clearly I'm referring to season 7, aka, facing sucking the season.

Like seriously, if I ate a Moonberry Surprise every time Callum and Rayla snogged, I'd end up needing medical attention.

That's not the offender I'm talking about though. It's Rayla's super selfishness and Callum choosing her over his grieving brother.

Somehow, the writer's thought that was okay.

Remember, this is the same girl who left him for 2 whole years to put her need of revenge before his feelings.

Callum betrayed his brother for her.

But it's not even just that, it's just the selfish nature of Rayla in season 7. Ezran has just had Katolis burnt to a crisp, and all she can think about is herself and her own needs. Ezran's feelings? They don't matter. As long as she's happy, that's fine.

I don't even want to talk about them all buddying up in the Silvergrove happily while Ezran is still dealing with Katolis' fallout.

Plus remember, at this point, Callum still believes that Runaan killed Harrow. I get forgiving someone but bro is literally choosing the guy who assassinated the guy who raised him over his grieving brother. It's actual insanity to me.

There is much more I have missed but I have reached my Rayllum limit for the day. This ship is as fun as watching paint dry so I want to do something that is going to actually bring me joy.

Have a good day everyone! Peace! 🫡