#blade (honkai star rail)

[aventurineswife]

❤ The Language of Flowers | 007

❤ | Your options shall be: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade, Phaimon, Mydei or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition: Belladonna  | symbolizes danger, deceit, and mystery. However, it can also represent beauty

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Blade x Reader, Moze x Reader, Angst, Emotional Struggle, Symbolism, Introspection, Vulnerability, Dark Themes, Unspoken Feelings, Subtle Romance, Psychological Depth, Character Growth, Self-Discovery, Heavy Emotions

Warnings: Mentions of emotional pain, Internal conflict, Trauma, Secrecy, and dark themes. Potential for emotionally charged content and vulnerability.

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 8] | [Part 8.5] | [Part 9] | [Part 10] | [Part 11] | [Part 12] | [Part 13] | [Part 14] | [Part 15] | [Part 16] | [Part 17] | [Part 18] | [Part 19] | [Part 20] [Part 21]

The air was thick with tension as the golden light of sunset filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Aventurine stood by the window, gazing out at the horizon, his usual playful smile absent from his lips. His fingers traced the edge of a delicate glass vial resting on the table—inside it, a single flower: Belladonna.

"Do you know what this is?" His voice, usually filled with charm, was quieter, almost distant. You approached him cautiously, unsure of what he was thinking.

He turned, catching your eye with that familiar mischievous glint, though this time there was something deeper, something more layered, in his gaze. "Belladonna," he explained with a faint grin, "symbolizes danger, deceit... and mystery." He raised the flower delicately between his fingers, letting it catch the light. "Yet, it can also represent beauty."

You studied the flower, noticing its striking allure. It was undeniably captivating, yet there was a dark undertone to its petals. It was a flower that promised both beauty and peril, like Aventurine himself.

He chuckled softly at your silence, the tension in the room shifting. "Like me, I suppose. Beautiful, yet deadly in its own way."

You looked at him, curiosity bubbling to the surface. "Do you believe that?"

Aventurine’s smile returned, though this time, it was tinged with sadness. "Perhaps. After all, I’ve built a life on the edge of danger—gambling with the lives of others, and sometimes, even my own." He placed the flower gently in your hand, his eyes locking with yours. "But sometimes, you see... the most dangerous things can also be the most beautiful."

You felt the weight of the flower in your palm, the petals soft yet laced with an unspoken warning. Aventurine’s eyes never left yours as he whispered, "Be careful, my dear. The danger of my affection is not so easily tamed."

And in that moment, you realized that in his heart, like the Belladonna, there was both danger and a raw beauty that he only revealed to those who truly understood the game.

The sound of the wind rustled through the empty expanse, the world around you shrouded in darkness as you stood at the edge of a cliff. Blade’s figure was barely visible, his silhouette sharp against the pale moonlight.

His eyes flickered toward you as you walked closer, the tension thickening with every step you took. In his hand, he held a small flower—a single Belladonna. Its dark beauty stood in stark contrast to the somber setting.

"Do you know the meaning of this flower?" Blade’s voice was as cold and distant as ever, his eyes not quite meeting yours, but there was an unmistakable weight to his words.

You took a step closer, your gaze fixated on the flower in his hand. "Danger... deceit... mystery," you whispered softly, recalling what you had heard about the Belladonna. The flower, despite its allure, was a symbol of poison and treachery.

Blade's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, at your accurate response. "Yes," he said quietly. "It represents everything I am. A life lived in the shadows, constantly flirting with danger and deceit. A life filled with the promise of destruction." His voice hardened, and his eyes glinted with something darker. "But there’s beauty in it too, isn’t there?"

You looked at him, eyes searching the depth of his gaze. "Is there, Blade?"

For a long moment, there was only silence between you, the wind howling in the distance. Then, Blade finally met your gaze fully, his red eyes intense and unreadable. "There is beauty in chaos. Beauty in destruction. And beauty in a life lived with no regard for the consequences."

He placed the Belladonna in your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with a lingering touch. "But beauty alone isn’t enough to sustain a soul. Sometimes, you need the darkness to complete the picture."

You stared down at the Belladonna, its petals dark and dangerous, and then back up at Blade, whose stoic exterior seemed to crack just slightly as he watched you with quiet anticipation.

In that moment, you realized that Blade, too, was a flower of sorts—beautiful and deadly, wrapped in layers of mystery and pain.

The shadows clung to the walls, and the atmosphere was heavy with the scent of rain. Moze stood in the corner of the room, his figure hidden in the gloom, barely more than a silhouette in the dim light. He didn’t speak at first, his eyes glimmering in the darkness as you approached.

He held something in his hand—a flower, dark and exotic. A Belladonna.

"You know what it is?" His voice was low, unfeeling, as though the question itself carried no weight. Yet, there was a flicker of something in his gaze as he extended the flower toward you.

You glanced at the flower, its petals dark and haunting, a stark contrast to its subtle beauty. "Belladonna. It symbolizes danger, deceit... mystery," you replied, knowing the symbolism well.

Moze’s expression remained unreadable as he studied you, his fingers curling slightly around the stem of the flower. "Yes, but there’s more to it." His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it now, something sharper. "It represents something beyond its poison. It’s a mask, a veil over what’s truly hidden beneath."

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. "Is that how you see yourself, Moze?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, quickly buried beneath the cold mask he wore. "I see myself as something different," he said softly, almost to himself. "A creature forged in secrecy, bound by duty... by a need for control." He looked at the flower once more. "But sometimes, control is just another form of deceit."

The Belladonna, so deadly and beautiful, seemed to pulse with the very essence of the man before you. Moze had always been a mystery, cloaked in darkness, yet there was a part of him that yearned for something more than just cold efficiency.

"You don’t have to keep everything hidden," you whispered, sensing the crack in his armor.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, you saw the weight of his past, the suffering he carried beneath the surface. "I’m not like you," he murmured, his voice tinged with something vulnerable. "The world doesn’t let me be anything else."

You gently took the Belladonna from his hand, feeling the slight tremble in his fingers as they released their hold. "Maybe you don’t need to hide all the time," you said softly, your words an invitation to the part of Moze that he kept buried deep inside.

Moze didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you, and for the first time, the silence between you wasn’t just cold—it was filled with something that neither of you could fully name.

[chattematsu]

I don't want to finish it so

Team s but with Firefly now (secomd one from 2023)

FK I FORGOT TO DRAW KAFKA'S HAND

[ladadiida]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

heavily injured from a battle in the xianzhou luofu, you thought it would be the first and last time you see your stellarmate—but then you wake up in his arms, with him treating your wounds despite showing signs of disinterest in your bond when you first met.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 soulmate au, angst, unrequited love, mentions of blood and injury descriptions, possessiveness, blade's pov, him just taking care of you with a sprinkle of angst

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 stellarmate = soulmate (inspired from stellar jade so original i know) this is actually from the blade fic that i plan on writing but this can be read as a standalone! also, if you get the ts reference in this we are automatically besties. may blade wanters be blade havers

𝐰𝐜 1.8k

soaking the dirty piece of cloth in the cold water, blade let the icy liquid gather in the fabric before lifting it out and wringing it dry until it became nothing but an improvised damp towel.

it wasn't even guaranteed that it was clean enough to be put on your forehead, since the cloth was only ripped off from your dirtied skirt. however, he had no choice but to use it in the end. your body went into a shock after losing too much blood in a battle between you and some mara-struck soldiers, resulting into a high fever.

with the moon positioned at its highest point in the night sky, blade guessed that it was already midnight, meaning that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep ever since he fled the xianzhou with your unconscious body in his arms and warped to a planet he first thought of. this was nothing new. he could stay up all night and his body wouldn't feel anything at all.

blade approached your resting figure in the small cave you were both currently residing in. observing your face for a moment, which was formed in a deep frown, he brushed away the stray hairs out of your face as carefully as he could, then placed the damp cloth on your forehead.

your fever wasn't going down throughout the evening, with your body covered in sweat and hastily wrapped bandages. your shoulders were bare since your most grave injury was a stab wound near your heart, caused by a sharp blade of a mara-struck soldier, and so he was forced to rip open the top part of your shirt to stop the bleeding.

beside your now wrapped wound was none other than your mark. your stellar mark. blade can only stare at it. even when he was placing a bandage over your wound, he didn't dare touch the area where the mark rested on your skin. until now, he was still in disbelief over the fact that the aeons gave him a counterpart, his other half. after all the torment and pain, he, of all people, was blessed with a stellarmate.

he went over to the bonfire in the middle of the cave, where he was boiling medicinal herbs with water using a bowl he made out of stone. years worth of travelling between planets made him gain knowledge of which food to eat or which plant is safe to intake. emerald-iii wasn't a foreign land to blade; he had visited the planet before twice, accompanied by kafka.

speaking of his companion, blade thought back to the xianzhou while waiting for you to wake up and for the medicine to finish cooking. she must be looking for him right now, maybe even asked silver wolf to track him down. your astral express friends might be searching for you too.

he closed his eyes. the image of you lying in your own pool of blood appeared in his mind. blood was also dripping down the side of your mouth, and your eyes were already starting to close when he found you. the pain and rage and fear he felt all over his body was nothing compared to his never-ending death. and he felt his mark burning too, wanting to seek revenge to the people who hurt what was his, wanting to kill them clean with his broken—

"b—lade?" your broken voice came out in a pained wheeze. you coughed shortly after, throat dry and parched. blade turned around and looked at you. your eyes were barely open, but he can see your confusion and distress. "you're...h-here?"

"fool. don't try to talk. you are currently in a weak state." he scolded, glowering at you with his crimson eyes narrowed in slits.

you shook your head repeatedly, slowly lifting your shivering arms and wrapping them around yourself. "i-it hurts, blade..." you complained as tears lined up your eyes, fingers brushing against your wounded shoulder, "...and it's c-cold."

blade gave you a blank stare. he didn't know what to say to you. it was the first time you talked to each other properly, and the first time you were alone together. but it seemed like you were in a state of delirium, seeing that you weren't scared of expressing yourself.

you whined while sniffing, "so cold...why is it so cold?"

he sighed in defeat and shrugged off his tailcoat, leaving him in only bandages wrapped around his torso. he scooted over to you and covered your body with his coat. "we are in emerald-iii, therefore, the weather is constantly changing. endure it while i finish the medicine."

"medicine?" you asked curiously, pulling his coat up to your face.

blade clicked his tongue in annoyance. "one more question and i will abandon you here."

you were silent for the next minutes as you patiently waited beside him. he removed the stone bowl from the fire, and saw that the water has turned a greyish green due to the medicinal herbs. to further melt down the remaining floating leaves, he gave the liquid a quick stir by moving it in a back and forth motion.

bringing it up to your lips, he commanded, "drink."

moving your head forward, you sipped from the bowl, but you immediately coughed it out. after recovering from the series of coughs, you let out, "it's bitter—!"

"you dare complain when i boiled these herbs for hours just so they become pure enough to consume." blade snapped impatiently, "do you wish to be well or not?"

you nodded quickly, not wanting to anger him any further. "okay. i'll drink it."

it took you a few more tries before you get to take all the medicine down your throat, your face scrunched in disgust by the time you finished drinking it.

without warning, blade scooped you up and placed your head against his shoulder. he started taking off your bloodied bandages, and once it was all removed, he examined the wound. he already cleaned and stitched it up hours ago, but it was still bleeding. it can't be helped. the supplies were sparse and the cut was too deep, and with your fever adding up, he was not sure if you'll survive the night.

sweat began lining up his forehead. gritting his teeth, he took a fresh batch of bandages and started to wrap them on you again.

why? why was he doing this? why was he trying to keep you alive? each time the bandage circled around your arm, blade's movements became more frustrated and quick and rough. he didn't even notice you gazing at him with a dazed expression until you chuckled softly.

blade scowled. "speak if you wish to say something."

"are you real?" you murmured weakly, your hushed voice cracking in between words, lacking the usual gentle tone yet it was still tinted with naivety and awe that it made him freeze. all the frustration and anger was washed away and was instead replaced with confusion to your question.

your eyelids kept drooping down, not allowing him to see the beautiful shade of your warm eyes that reminded him of the brightest stars of the xianzhou sky. it was fine; as long as he gets to hold you like this, your head against his shoulder, your bare skin against his with the moonlight shining over you, then everything was fine.

feeling his heart skid to a stop for a thousandth time that night, blade can't help but to slowly reach out, and although his bandaged hand hesitated to land on your skin, afraid it might tint your innocence with his sins, he allowed himself to caress your cheek. it did not surprise him at all when your face fit perfectly in the palm of his wounded hand, your warmth proceeding to seep through his thin and bloodied bandages. a stray tear suddenly fell down your smooth skin, and this time, he didn't hesitate to wipe it off with his thumb.

"what do you mean?" he whispered, leaning in closer to you. you didn't answer for a minute, your breathing growing heavy.

then you laughed. "i don't know," you said, "i feel like i just made you up."

more tears escaped from your eyes as you continued, "you wouldn't...boil some strange herbs for me, or wrap me up in your coat. or treat my wounds, or even talk to me. you wouldn't want to be near me. you wouldn't do that."

"i have no time for your nonsense." blade replied with the intention of sounding harsh, but it came out weak instead. you smiled at him tearily, placing your hand on top of his.

"we are going to be unbound soon." you assured him, and blade swore his stellarmark was stung the second you said those words, "and as soon as i get well, i will immediately seek the aeons and get our marks removed. then you wouldn't have to see me ever again."

he swallowed, speechless for the first time. unbeknownst to him, he was slowly pulling you closer to his chest, his fingers digging into your skin in an attempt to keep you all to himself. his breathing grew uneven as he thought of you walking away from him, forgetting him, not thinking of him, and you belonging to someone else that wasn't him. his heartbeat grew irregular at the thought of not seeing you again.

blade had the sudden urge to cover up his mark and protect it from the world. it was his. it was his and his alone, and no one was going to take it away from him. not even the aeons.

"but do you want to know a secret?" you continued quietly, your smile growing wide, "if the aeons would give me a chance to pick a stellarmate again, i would choose you."

yes. he was going to keep this mark. and he was going to keep you. ever single person who will lay their hand on your skin will meet the sharpness of his sword, and every single one who will stand in between your bond shall face his wrath.

"i would you choose you, again, and again, and again, until you want me back. until you love me back."

the second you wake up from your delirious state, he'll tell you of his new plans, and he imagined you in disbelief, surprised and hesitant and hopeless but you'll nod and you'll take his hand, and you'll run, run, run, and leave it all behind.

"oh, look at the moon," you exclaimed, pointing a finger to the crescent shaped light, and he ignored the way your breaths were growing shallow each time you talk, "look at the moon, blade. it's so pretty. the moon is so pretty."

blade pulled you closer to his chest and rested his chin on top of your head as a sinister grin started to grow on his lips, along with an unfamiliar flame beginning to ignite in his amber crimson eyes. you were his. you were his.

and not even elio can change that.

[tatsumessy]

how they kiss you pt 1- {hsr men}

Jing Yuan (Cheek kisses)

As his parter he expects for you to be by his side at all times. Not when he’s fighting of course but he always wants you by his side like how he always wants Mimi in his office. When you two are alone in his office he likes to have you sit in between his legs and as you both just sit there chatting idly, him ignoring his work and responsibilities. He loves to just bite and press light kisses on your cheek just because he adores you and loves you so much.

Dan Heng - (Cheek Kisses)

He doesn’t seem like the type for much affection, especially in public so he’d stick for something simple that he knows will show you that he still loves you but at the same time not being too mushy and doing too much PDA in public. If hed be in the middle of a conversation with March and you just happen to walk by will drop everything just to give you a quick kiss on the cheek and say hi. He’s very simple.

Sunday - (Forehead kisses)

We all know how Sunday is. Very devious and very possessive. But he can be sweet sometimes especially in bed whenever you two had just finished having sex and you me coming down from your orgasm. Sunday doesn’t pull out of you at all, you’re under him breathing heavily, hair damp sticking to your forehead. He just can’t help but think to himself how gorgeous you look exhausted and fucked out under him. He smiles to himself as he leans down pressing a loving kiss on your forehead while whispering of good of a job you did today.

Blade - (Neck Kisses)

Blade may seem distant and cold….and a dick most times but goshhhhhh does he love his womannnn. You are his everything and he cares and protects the things or people he loves. If any one of the stelleron hunters were asked about the two of you they would say that you’re inseparable at all times. And blade isn’t the type to not let you fight because he’s scared you’re gonna hurt yourself- no he thinks it’s sexy that you’re dangerous and can handle your own. But anytime you two have down time you’re cuddled up against each other, Blades nose nuzzled into your neck as he presses light kisses there, not in a sexual way just because he wants too.

[lizdive]

hi there! platonic aventurine, jing yuan, sunday, blade, welt, dan heng, boothill, argenti and dr ratio with a teen reader who is like fischl?

Hi anon <33 I really wanted to finish this in one part because i loved this req in specific (i love fischl) but idk why I’m lacking sm motivation,,, so I decided to split this into 2 parts (hopefully) i hope you don’t mind,,, thank you so much for requesting <33 if you’re unsatisfied just tell me and i’ll redo it !! <33

notes 𐙚 gender-neutral reader — "you" + "royal" + "they/them" used to refer to user ,, reader is a teenager ,, user is based off of "fischl" from the game genshin impact ,, platonic relationships ,, mention of fu xuan in jing yuan’s part ,, not my best work i’m sorry ,, mention of robin in sunday’s part ,, not proofread ignore typos

⭑ When he first met you, AVENTURINE was a bit taken aback with your speech and eccentric character in general. You claim to be royalty from a far away world, and while Aventurine didn’t quite believe it at first there was a small part of him that was lowkey kind of convinced.

⭑ He was a bit concerned that someone like you was so high ranking in the IPC because he knows the IPC is probably exploiting you especially because you seem to be a bit naive, so he’ll start watching over you.

⭑ He’ll gradually get used to your persona and understand what you say. He might need a second to process if you drop a huge paragraph of dialogue on him, but with every conversation and interaction he gets faster.

⭑ Takes one to know one — AVENTURINE can tell you’re trying to cope with something that’s happened in the past via roleplaying this character you put on, and he won’t be the one to burst your bubble. In fact, he’ll try to protect it for as long as possible.

⭑ Nobody’s going to make fun of you while he’s around. If anyone tries to reality check you, he’ll lowkey gaslight them into thinking that everything you say is real. Yeah, you’re a royal. He’s also actually seen this far away land you speak of, so that person is just being an ignorant hater !!

⭑ If your character is based off of someone from a book like Fischl, AVENTURINE will find that book and read it to better understand your references and persona as a whole. Likes seeing how you get happy when he references something.

⭑ If you ever feel insecure because of your past, AVENTURINE will be there to comfort you. He’s good at picking up signs when it comes to you because he practically had your character memorized. He’ll try to distract you from your past but if you do want to open up and vent he’ll be there to listen.

⭑ Give him a role in your little world and he’ll play it scarily well. Would probably do best as a royal advisor or assistant.

⭑ Buys you literally anything and everything that could fit your aesthetic and world. Fancy gems to add to your riches because every royal needs to have riches!! Buys you clothes too that you think is fit for royalty of your world.

⭑ You practice archery next to him while he practices gun shooting and it’s nice bonding time,,

"I, [Name], [Insert desired title here], descend upon this land by the call of fate an— Oh, you are also a traveler from another world? Very well, I grant you permission to travel with me."

"They’re saying that it’s nice to meet you."

⭑ Was not in any way bothered or confused by your eccentric mannerisms. JING YUAN’s pretty used to the unique speech style due to Fu Xuan, so he understands what you’re saying or at least gets the basic idea.

⭑ Oh? You’re a royal from a far away distant land? Yes yes, how nice. But royals do need to complete their training as well, no? As a cloud knight, he’s impressed with how you easily climbed up those ranks. Praises you whenever you somehow jump up a rank quicker than the last.

⭑ He doesn’t really suspect too much of your personality and that you’re putting up a front until you slip out and go ooc which makes him do a double take mentally. When you get all flustered and a bit distressed, he’ll reassure you by acting like nothing happened.

⭑ It’s then that he really pays attention to the little story you have going on with the world you live in. If he ever forgets something important, he’ll apologize and tell you that he never meant to insult your highness.

⭑ Another one that would protect your little bubble. I don’t think anyone would really want to say something bad about a high ranking cloud knight but even if they wanted to if JING YUAN or Yanqing were to hear they wouldn’t know peace,,

⭑ He can play the role you give him should you give him, especially as a general. You tell him about someone trying to attack your kingdom and he’ll reassure you he’s got this !!

⭑ Keeps a piece of paper in his pocket that has details about your persona if it’s based off of a character from a book. Also probably has a timeline on all your 'historical' events — sometimes he scares you because it feels like he knows more about your world than you do,,

⭑ He finds your keen instincts and intuition a bit intimidating. Have you ever thought of learning a thing or two from Fu Xuan? He always trusts you whenever you feel uncertain about a plan or idea because somehow you’re almost always right in the end.

⭑ Becomes your archery mentor and will watch over you as you train. Your skills are impressive and he finds amusement in the way you pose after a full combo.

⭑ If you feel upset because of your past, JING YUAN will comfort you and tell you that you don’t have to grow up — you’re still young and deserve to enjoy what remains before you become an adult and have to face the world. He’ll always be proud and support you no matter what.

"I hear the voice of fate, speaking my name in humble supplication..."

"Hm? Care to share what fate whispers?"

⭑ The talk of an eccentric worker in the reverie hotel had easily reached SUNDAY’s ears, and wanting to see who this eccentric worker was, he decided to wander around during his free time to catch them in action.

⭑ It wasn’t hard to find you as you were a bit loud. Pushing the cart of luggage while speaking of your magical kingdom to the guests as they nod along, clearly invested and assuming you were a storyteller. Once you had brought the guests’ luggage to their room and left, SUNDAY made his way to you to talk with you in interest. You had quite the imagination and spoke in a very sophisticated manner for your age.

⭑ Wasn’t at all phased by the paragraphs upon paragraphs of dialogue you would drop on him, replying easily and holding the conversation well. He noticed you seemed happier the longer he spoke to you.

⭑ While some guests may be annoyed by your behavior, he’ll remind them — if he’s present — that penacony is the land of festivities and many different people visit. Plus, you’re young and free to be who you want to be. If you’re really get picked on though he’ll deal with them personally.

⭑ SUNDAY is scarily observant so he knows you’re playing a character. He doesn’t really acknowledge it too much or confronts you, though, since everyone in penacony is also technically playing the character they wish they were.

⭑ Because of that, SUNDAY will let you do as you please. He’ll indulge you and will play the role you wish for him to play. He’s good at acting, so he can play whatever you wish. It reminds him of when he’d play pretend when Robin when he was younger.

⭑ Has everything about your character memorized. However he knows what to say and what not to say so he doesn’t fluster you by knowing more than you. Will also cover for you if you accidentally go ooc.

⭑ Your ability to rise up in the ranks so quickly will eventually make you work directly under him at some point and when that happens trust that people will refer to you with a royal title. He may indulge you a bit too much,,,

⭑ When you open to SUNDAY about your past, he kind of just. . . Dodges the subject after that. Doesn’t mention it at all. May act like your father a bit and call you his [insert royal title here] — you never realize it’s him trying to reassure you that you needn’t worry about growing up and being mature because of the role you’ve given him.

⭑ Gets a bit worried for your safety when you practice archery, but he also appreciates the fact you can take care of yourself should you face any dangers (especially in the dreamscape.)

⭑ Takes your advice and warnings a bit seriously because of how good your intuition and keen instincts were. (He didn’t listen ONCE and he paid the price.)

"What does it take to rile a royal? ...If you must know, it is those who cannot recognize my true identity. But it is no great loss, for solitude is the noble's lot, so long as I do not lose the nobility of my soul..."

"How wise you are, your highness."

⭑ He has no idea when it happened, but one day BLADE became your 'knight' and he has yet to comment on it. Not really the best knight as he doesn’t really stay close to you on the daily however also a really good knight as he protects you during missions to the point where you don’t use a single arrow.

⭑ Can understand what you day, does not translate for other people. You’re the yapper and he’s the listener. Doesn’t reply like 95% of the time but when he does it’s really flat and monotone which you don’t mind because he’s the big scary knight !!

⭑ Gets teased by the other stellaron hunters for indulging you, but he doesn’t really care too much. He can’t leave you to die during missions, can he? You’re way too young to hold your own properly so he’s there to make sure the number of stellaron hunters doesn’t decrease (that’s his reasoning don’t ruin it pls.)

⭑ Said this in other posts: not the best at comforting so when you open up, he’s kind of just,,, there. He’s also a bit distant sometimes but after that he’ll try to put an effort into playing his role so you don’t get upset or feel like he’s ignoring you.

⭑ Nobody thinks of making fun of you or your interests because BLADE’s always standing behind you — even if you’re tall for your age it’s still very scary to have him just staring at the person with a dead look.

⭑ Doesn’t research your character like the others — he learns as he goes. He doesn’t even have the chance to mess up because he just doesn’t talk much so he can’t mess up.

⭑ Not much to say for Bladie he just goes with it,,

"Dusk and dawn but fleeting shadows are. Once more, the twists of fate have led you into my everlasting night."

"…Good morning."

[devdozes]

♠Ma Meillure Ennemie

[a/n - emotional shit, slight lime and making out hell yeah]

part 1-https://www.tumblr.com/devdozes/777400654296760320/ma-meilleure-ennemie-an-i-think-i-like-blade?source=share

A sickening shhk cuts through the chaos.

The weapon you threw—your last desperate attempt before the Stellaron rejected you—finds its mark. It buries deep into the chest of the one controlling Blade. A sharp gasp leaves their lips, their grip over the warrior breaking instantly.

Blade staggers. His eyes, once clouded with unnatural influence, clear as if a shroud has been lifted. His breath comes in ragged gasps, confusion flashing across his face as his grip on his sword slackens.

Then he sees you.

Collapsed on the floor. Blood pooling beneath you, dark and thick. Your chest unmoving. Your body lifeless.

The world around him blurs.

“...No.” His sword clatters to the ground as he rushes to you, dropping to his knees, hands reaching out—hesitating—before they finally touch you. Warm. You're still warm. But your face is deathly pale, your lips parted slightly as if you had tried to speak but never got the chance.

“(Y/N)...” His voice is hoarse, almost fragile. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek, then slide down to press against the gaping wound in your chest, desperate to stop the bleeding—but there’s too much blood. It seeps through his hands, staining his fingers red.

He tries to shake you. “Wake up.”

No response.

His heart pounds against his ribs. A suffocating weight coils in his chest, pressing against his lungs like iron. He tries again, voice sharper this time, more desperate— “Wake up, damn it!”

Still, you don’t move.

The battlefield is eerily silent now. The enemy is dead, the Stellaron still pulsing ominously, but none of it matters. Nothing matters.

Blade doesn’t realize his hands are shaking. Doesn’t realize his breath is unsteady, or that something tight and unbearable is closing around his throat.

“Don’t—” His voice is quieter now, raw. “Don’t do this.”

But you don’t hear him. ♥♥♥

A cold, paralyzing numbness creeps into Blade’s bones as he stares at you. It’s wrong. This is wrong.

You were just standing. Just breathing. Just alive.

And now—

His hands press harder against your chest, trying—desperately—to stop the blood from spilling out, from leaving your body, from stealing what little warmth is left in you. His fingers are slick with it, trembling as they push down, but the more he tries, the more it slips through his grasp. It coats his hands, drips from his fingers, soaks into his sleeves like an irreversible stain.

A mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake.

He did this.

The realization crashes over him like a tidal wave, dragging him under, drowning him in a suffocating weight that crushes his ribs, his lungs, his very soul. He can still feel the lingering phantom of his blade, how it had sliced through skin, through flesh—through you.

It wasn’t supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you.

His body tenses, chest heaving as something primal, something devastating, coils inside him, searing hot and unbearable. A silent rage, a self-loathing so deep it threatens to consume him whole. His own hands did this. His own sword.

And now you—

“Wake up.” His voice is a whisper, hoarse and uneven. Begging. “Wake up, (Y/N).”

But you don’t.

You’re so still. Too still.

A hollow sort of panic sets in, twisting his insides into something unrecognizable. He has seen death more times than he can count. He has caused death more times than he can count. But this—this is different. This isn’t just another body. This isn’t just another casualty on the battlefield.

This is you.

The one person who managed to wedge yourself into the cracks of his guarded existence. The one person who spoke to him like he was something more than a weapon. The one person who had seen him, truly seen him.

And now you’re slipping away.

His breathing is uneven, ragged. He bows his head, forehead nearly pressing against yours as if the closeness will somehow tether you back to him. His grip on you tightens, as if holding you close will stop you from fading.

“Please…” The word feels foreign on his tongue, barely more than a breath.

Blade doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead.

But for you—

For you, he would tear the world apart if it meant undoing this moment. If it meant undoing his mistake.

But there’s nothing left to tear apart. There’s only you.

Blade’s body is frozen, every muscle tense as he cradles your lifeless form. His breath is shallow, erratic, his mind barely able to process the horror of what he’s done—what he’s lost.

And then—

A strange hum fills the air.

Blade’s eyes snap upward, his grip on you tightening instinctively.

The Stellaron—the very thing that had driven this battle into chaos—is no longer resisting, no longer trying to reject containment. But it isn’t going into the device meant to hold it.

Instead, it’s being drawn elsewhere.

Straight into your sword.

His gaze locks onto Agnes, your trusted weapon, the one you’d wielded with such precision and ferocity, the one that had struck down countless foes—and the one you had thrown in a desperate last attempt to stop the enemy controlling him.

It stands lodged in the chest of the one who had manipulated him, still embedded deep in their body, yet the Stellaron’s energy flows toward it, as if it has chosen a different vessel.

The swirling, radiant light pulses unnaturally, its tendrils stretching and weaving into Agnes’s blade like veins of power sinking into flesh. The energy crackles, a force both mesmerizing and terrifying, sinking deeper, deeper, deeper—until there’s nothing left of the Stellaron but its lingering glow, now fused with the weapon.

A deep, unsettling silence follows.

Blade barely breathes. His gaze flickers between the sword and you, his heart hammering against his ribs. There is something unnatural about this. Stellaron energy should not be able to merge with anything outside of containment protocols. It should not be choosing anything of its own will.

Why your sword? Why not the device? And then—it clicks.

Your weapon, forged with a fragment of a Stellaron, was never just a simple blade. It had always been something more, something attuned to the Stellaron’s influence. And now, in this critical moment, it had acted as a vessel, drawing the rogue energy into itself, sealing it away without resistance.

But what did that mean for you?

Blade doesn’t care about the Stellaron. Doesn’t care about containment, about missions, about success or failure.

All he cares about is the person in his arms.

Your skin is still unnervingly cold. The blood on his hands is still far too much.

And then, He lets out a choked sob, burying his face in the crook of your bloodied neck. Yet, it still had the comforting scent of You.

Blade’s hands tremble as he stares at your bloodied form, the weight of your stillness suffocating him. His breath is shallow, barely leaving his lungs. His mind is screaming, telling him to do something—to act, to save you— but he knows, deep down, that he’s already too late.

But he refuses to accept it.

His gaze flickers to Agnes, your sword—now pulsing, glowing with an eerie light, the Stellaron completely absorbed within its steel. It hums with power, unstable yet contained, a force that no ordinary person could wield.

And yet, he grips the hilt.

The moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, burning pain slashes through his body. It’s like the Stellaron itself is rejecting him, pushing him away, forcing him to understand that this weapon belongs to you and you alone.

His vision blurs, but he grits his teeth, refusing to let go.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if it destroys him.

If there is even the smallest chance—the smallest hope— that Agnes can help bring you back, he will endure any pain, any suffering.

But then—

A crack.

His breath hitches. His entire body stiffens.

The ground beneath you shatters.

Like fragile glass breaking apart, the earth beneath your lifeless form collapses inward, spiraling into a void. The shadows stretch, clawing at you, pulling you down—

Blade’s eyes widen in horror. No. No, no, no, NO.

He lunges forward—but the moment his eyes leave your body—

You’re gone.

Swallowed by the abyss.

The echoes of crumbling stone fade into suffocating silence.

Blade stands frozen, his grip tightening around Agnes until his knuckles turn white. His entire body trembles—not from exhaustion, not from pain—but from the unbearable weight of loss.

His chest rises and falls, breathless, disoriented. He should move, he should jump in after you— but the abyss has already sealed itself, as if you had never been there to begin with.

He stares at the spot where you had just been. His heartbeat is deafening.

His fingers dig into the sword’s hilt.

The Stellaron had chosen this blade. And now, it had taken you.

Blade’s breath is ragged, his body trembling as he grips Agnes so tightly his hands threaten to bleed. His mind is blank—no, not blank. It’s a hurricane, a violent storm of emotions ripping him apart from the inside.

Your blood is still on his hands.

Your warmth is gone.

And you—you disappeared.

He can't breathe. His entire body feels wrong, like his nerves are misfiring, like his own flesh is rejecting him. His chest aches—a deep, horrible pain unlike any wound he's ever endured.

The Stellaron—the fucking Stellaron.

It took you.

His grip tightens around your sword, the blade pulsing as if it were mocking him, reminding him of his failure. His head pounds, his vision swims, and for a split second, he forgets where he is.

The battlefield is quiet now. The bodies of enemies lie scattered. The air reeks of burnt ozone and blood. But Blade hears nothing.

Nothing except the echo of your last breath.

Then—

"Blade. Do you copy?"

A voice cuts through the suffocating silence. A voice he barely registers.

"Hey, where the hell have you been?! What happened? You weren’t responding!"

Silverwolf.

Her words feel distant, like she's speaking through water, but something in them grates against his already shattered mind.

The Stellaron.

That’s what she’s asking about. That’s what she cares about.

His fingers twitch, his nails digging into the metal of the hilt. His heartbeat is erratic, his breathing uneven. For a moment, he doesn't respond, just staring at the cracked ground where you had once been, where he had lost you.

Then—

"Blade. Answer me."

A spark of rage ignites in his veins.

Why the hell does any of it matter now?

He opens his mouth, ready to snarl—ready to break something, ready to tear apart the first thing that comes near him—

But then, a sharp pulse vibrates through his skull.

Silverwolf isn't waiting for an answer anymore.

She’s teleporting him back.

"You’re in bad shape. Hold still, I’m pulling you in—"

His surroundings shift.

The battlefield disappears. The gaping hole in the earth—where you fell, where you were lost— vanishes.

For a split second, Blade tries to resist, tries to cling to this place, to whatever trace of you is left—

But he’s already gone.

The next thing he knows, he’s standing on the Stellaron Hunters’ ship.

Cold. Sterile. Familiar.

And completely, disgustingly empty.

The second Blade materializes on the Stellaron Hunters' ship, the shift in air pressure makes his head pound. His muscles are still coiled tight, his breathing erratic, his hands shaking as he grips Agnes like a lifeline. The sword—your sword—still pulses faintly in his grasp, the Stellaron sealed inside.

Silverwolf, Kafka, and Firefly stand in front of him, waiting. The atmosphere is tense.

Kafka’s eyes land on the blood smeared across his clothes, the still-fresh stains on his hands. Her usual lazy smirk is nowhere to be seen.

Firefly, normally composed, shifts uneasily.

Silverwolf crosses her arms. “You look like hell,” she says, voice sharp but not unkind. “What happened out there? We lost your signal after the Stellaron—”

Her gaze flickers to Agnes, noticing the faint glow pulsing from the blade. Her eyes narrow. “Wait… where’s the containment device?”

Blade doesn’t answer. He can’t.

His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth might shatter.

Kafka steps forward, slow and measured, her gaze searching his face. “Blade,” she murmurs, voice softer than usual. “Where’s the kid?”

That’s when the dam almost breaks.

Blade’s voice is hoarse—so raw that it barely escapes his throat. "She’s dead."

The words shouldn’t have come out so easily. Shouldn’t have left his mouth like some cold, detached statement. But the second they do, the weight of them crashes down on him like a blade straight to the heart.

Silverwolf stiffens.

Firefly freezes.

For a moment, neither of them move. Neither of them breathe.

Then—

"No."

Firefly’s voice is barely above a whisper, trembling, eyes wide—disbelieving. "No, she’s not. She’s not dead."

Blade says nothing.

"She’s not dead!" Firefly’s voice cracks. It’s not like her. She’s usually composed—soft-spoken but firm—but right now, she looks like she’s about to break apart. "She can’t be. We—we just saw her last week—she—she promised to teach me how to—" Her breath shudders. She stops. Clutches her chest like it physically hurts to breathe.

Silverwolf doesn’t say anything either. Just stands there, lips pressed together so tightly they’re white—fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to grab her device, to break something, or to force reality to change.

But the truth is there. In Blade’s bloodstained clothes. In the way his hands are still shaking. In the empty space where your voice should be.

And then it hits.

Hard.

Firefly’s legs give out. She crashes to her knees, fists clenched so tightly they tremble. Her red eyes glisten, her breath unsteady. "She can’t be dead," she whispers, and it sounds so young—so small—so utterly broken.

Silverwolf grits her teeth. Shoves her hands into her hoodie pockets like it’ll hide the way they’re shaking. But the way her shoulders are stiff, how her head is tilted just enough to hide her expression behind her bangs—

She’s breaking.

They both are.

Flashbacks come, unbidden, flooding their minds like a tsunami of memories.

♥♥♥

With Silverwolf, The late-night gaming marathons where you always let her win at first, only to turn the tables at the last second, making her groan in frustration.

The teasing banter, the way you called her "kid" just to piss her off. The way you ruffled her hair, and she’d swat your hand away, grumbling—only to lean into it when she thought no one was looking.

The one time she stayed up too late hacking, you tossed a blanket over her and left a drink by her setup. You never said anything about it, but she always knew.

With Firefly, How you always fixed her mech suit with the utmost care, like it was something precious. How you helped her adjust the settings, making sure it fit just right.

The way you’d train together, spar together, laugh together. The way you called her "Firecracker" with that teasing grin, even though she pretended to hate it.

The one time she had a breakdown over a failed mission, you sat beside her, silent, letting her cry until she calmed down.

You were their sister.

You were family.

And now—

Now you’re gone.

Silverwolf clenches her fists, hard. “You’re lying,” she mutters, voice tight. “You’re—you're messing with us, right? There’s no way—”

Blade doesn’t respond.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

The silence is deafening.

And that’s when Silverwolf’s legs give out too.

The air is thick, suffocating, as Firefly trembles on her knees and Silverwolf stares blankly at the floor, her hands still clenched in her hoodie pockets. Blade says nothing.

And neither does Kafka.

For the first time, she doesn’t have some playful, teasing remark. No sly comments, no knowing smirks, no I-told-you-so’s.

Just silence.

She stands there, still, her usual relaxed posture gone—arms crossed tightly, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat.

Then, she exhales. Slow. Measured. But even that can’t hide the weight in her chest.

"So that’s how it is, huh?" Her voice is quieter than usual. Lacking its usual honeyed lilt. It’s not a question—more of a resigned statement.

Blade doesn’t answer.

Kafka lifts a hand, brushing her bangs back, and for a split second, her fingers tremble.

She remembers.

She remembers how you’d roll your eyes at her dramatic antics but still play along.

How you never backed down when she tried to get under your skin—how you’d fire back just as easily, always giving her a run for her money.

How she used to call you “darling” just to annoy you, and how you’d throw a wrench at her in response.

How—despite all the chaos, despite all the missions, despite everything—you always had their backs.

How you were never supposed to be the one to fall.

And now, you’re gone.

Kafka closes her eyes. She takes another breath, slower this time.

Then, she opens them and looks at Blade.

Really looks at him.

At the way he’s standing like a man on the verge of shattering into pieces. At the way his bloodied fingers are still curled like he’s trying to hold on to something that isn’t there anymore.

At the way his red eyes, always so dull and detached, are now nothing but an abyss of unspoken agony.

She’s seen Blade covered in blood before. Seen him come back from battle, cloaked in red like it was just another day at work.

But this—this is different.

This isn’t just another mission gone wrong.

This is personal.

And for once, Kafka doesn’t try to put it into words.

She just lets the silence speak for itself.

One Month Later

The Stellaron Hunters didn’t talk about you.

Not because they didn’t want to—because they couldn’t.

The silence stretched like an unspoken wound, raw and aching, a reminder of what was missing.

Firefly wasn’t as chatty anymore. She used to hum while working on her mech suit, rambling about improvements and upgrades. Now, she barely spoke unless necessary. The light in her eyes had dimmed. She still waited for your teasing comments. But they never came.

Silverwolf drowned herself in her games, playing until her fingers ached. She ignored calls, ignored everything. It was easier that way. She didn’t have to think about the fact that you weren’t going to pop in behind her and complain about how much she gamed.

Kafka still played her part, but it was different. Her usual smirks? Forced. Her teasing? Hollow. It wasn’t the same without you firing back. The last thing she expected was for you to disappear first.

And Blade?

Blade was gone.

Not physically—no, he was still here, still breathing. But he wasn’t here.

He barely spoke. He didn’t train. Didn’t even react when Kafka poked at him.

All he did was search.

Because deep down, no matter what he told them that day—no matter how much he tried to bury it—he refused to believe you were dead.

Not you. Not like that.

You couldn’t be.

And if there was even a fraction of a chance that you were still out there, no matter how impossible—he would find you.

You were nowhere.

Or rather, you were somewhere, but that place existed outside the grasp of time, beyond the laws of space. It was neither heaven nor hell, not the physical world, nor the afterlife.

It was just limbo.

A hollow realm where the sky remained frozen in early morning blue, neither dark nor light, just an eternal moment between night and day. The air was still—too still, as if it had never known the weight of wind.

Beneath you stretched a vast, endless field of lilies. Their pale petals gleamed in the faint, soft glow of the sky, their fragrance too light, too distant, as though it existed in another plane entirely. Each step you took pressed into the earth but left no imprint, no sign that you had ever been there.

There was no sun, no moon, no horizon.

Just the unchanging blue and the hush of flowers shifting without wind.

It felt like a dream. A dream you couldn’t wake up from.

But dreams weren’t supposed to feel this empty.

And yet… despite the stillness, despite the absence of anything alive, something whispered at the edges of your mind. Something was here.

Something was watching.

But no matter how much you turned, no matter how far you walked into the endless expanse, there was nothing.

Only blue.

♥♥♥

You remembered dying. You remembered Blade.

You remembered the **pain—**his sword piercing through your chest, the way the world had dimmed, your body growing weightless, like you were sinking into an abyss with no bottom.

But you never hit the ground.

Instead, something ripped you away from the moment of death.

Something interfered.

The Stellaron.

Agnes had been a part of you for years, and through it, you had unknowingly been exposed to the Stellaron’s energy for far too long. It had seeped into your body, into your very being, forming a bond that shouldn’t have existed.

And when you died—**or almost did—**that bond refused to break.

The Stellaron did not allow you to pass on.

But it didn’t save you, either.

It had displaced you. Shoved you into the cracks between existence and oblivion, into a realm where time and space did not hold meaning.

A place where you would remain.

Forever.

Silverwolf had never been this frustrated before.

She had cracked the Xianzhou’s firewalls, hijacked IPC’s databases, and even pulled off unthinkable data breaches across the universe—but this? This was the first time she felt utterly useless.

She sat in front of a sea of holographic screens, hands flying over her controls as she dug, searched, calculated— anything that could bring you back.

Because you weren’t dead.

She refused to believe it.

The Stellaron had done something. It had been exposed to you for years through Agnes. It had been inside your hands, inside your very core for so long that it treated you as part of itself.

That’s why your soul didn’t pass on.

That’s why you weren’t here, but not gone either.

"Come on, come on," Silverwolf muttered, pushing past encrypted logs, analyzing energy signatures, tracing connections.

The data was scattered, but there was a pattern—something binding you and the Stellaron together.

She felt a presence behind her.

Blade.

She didn’t turn to look at him. She couldn’t.

Because if she did—if she saw that blank, haunted look on his face—she’d break.

Firefly had already broken.

After Blade told them you were "dead," Firefly had locked herself in her room for hours. When she finally came out, she had collapsed in Silverwolf’s arms, shaking. Crying.

Firefly never cried.

But she had lost you. Her older sister. Her mentor. Her home.

Silverwolf had lost you too.

And she was not going to let this be the end.

"Anything?" Blade’s voice was low, but there was a sharp edge to it—one that barely kept him from snapping.

Silverwolf exhaled, still not looking away from her screens. "Maybe."

Blade didn’t respond, but she felt him step closer, watching her every move.

His fingers clenched at his sides.

He was tweaking. He had been ever since you disappeared. Like a machine running on broken code, barely holding itself together.

Silverwolf knew that if she failed—if she said "there’s no way"—Blade would tear the universe apart trying to find you himself.

And she wasn’t going to let it come to that.

Because you were still out there.

Somewhere.

Silverwolf found it.

Or at least, she thought she did.

She had been cross-referencing the Stellaron’s energy fluctuations with your sword, Agnes, tracking every signature it had absorbed since the moment you disappeared. And there—a pulse. A faint, but undeniable resonance buried in the data.

Not gone. Not lost.

Just... stuck.

The Sea of Quanta.

"She’s there," Silverwolf whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

Firefly, who had been silent the entire time, jerked up. "She’s alive?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the fragile hope in her chest.

Blade didn’t say a word. But his grip tightened on Agnes, his knuckles turning white.

Silverwolf barely heard them. She was already moving, working, hacking—calculating a way to stabilize the connection.

There was a chance. A method.

The Stellaron inside Agnes had absorbed part of you, enough to leave a trail—a thread tying you to this plane. If they could amplify that connection, create a rift through the Stellaron’s energy field, they could pull you out.

She turned to Blade. "We’re doing this. Now."

—

The ship’s control room had never been this tense before.

Silverwolf ran the calculations. Firefly prepared the energy stabilizers. Blade stood at the center, gripping Agnes like it was the last thing tethering him to sanity.

"Alright," Silverwolf exhaled. "Theoretically, if this works, the Stellaron’s energy should latch onto her soul and pull her back. It’s like... fishing. We just have to—"

"Do it," Blade cut in, his voice sharp.

Silverwolf didn’t argue, so she activated the sequence.

Immediately, the ship shook.

Agnes glowed violently, the Stellaron inside pulsing—reaching. The entire room was bathed in cold, blue light as the energy wave ripped through dimensions, searching, grasping.

For a second, just a second, it worked.

A distortion appeared in the air, a rift—a glimpse into the Blue Hour limbo where you were trapped.

There you were.

Standing in a field of lilies, your back turned to them, your figure bathed in the cold glow of that endless, unmoving sky.

Blade moved before he could think. He reached out—his fingers nearly brushing yours.

And then—

The entire ship shuddered violently.

The rift collapsed in on itself.

Agnes screamed—the Stellaron rejecting the process.

And then—

The connection severed.

The distortion vanished.

You were gone.

Silverwolf’s monitors flickered wildly before flatlining.

Nothing.

No signature. No trail. No sign that you were ever there at all.

Like you had never existed.

Silence.

Then—

"NO!"

Blade’s roar shook the walls.

Agnes clattered to the ground, the Stellaron’s glow fading as Blade dropped to his knees, his hands clenched into fists so tight they bled. His head hung low, trembling—shaking with unfiltered rage, grief, and pure, unbearable loss.

Firefly stood frozen, hands over her mouth, her entire frame shaking.

Silverwolf?

She just sat there, staring at the blank screen, heart pounding in her ears.

She had failed.

They had failed.

And you were gone.

♥♥♥

The silence after the failure was unbearable.

It was Silverwolf who felt it first—the crushing weight of nothingness. The absence where your presence had been just moments ago.

Her hands hovered over the keyboard, shaking violently. She ran the program again, and again, and again—replaying the sequence, searching, calculating—

But every time, the answer was the same.

Connection: Lost.

She tried to swallow, but her throat felt tight. Her chest **ached, burned—**something deep and ugly twisting inside her.

"That’s not—" she choked, voice barely above a whisper. "That’s not possible."

But it was.

The last fragment of your existence had just been wiped away.

The sword had failed.

The Stellaron had failed.

She had failed.

Firefly had crumpled to the ground, shaking violently. Her fingers dug into the cold metal floor as she clutched her arms—like she was trying to hold herself together.

"She was—" Firefly’s voice cracked. "She was right there—I saw her. I saw her, Silverwolf, we—"

Her breath hitched, shoulders rising and falling as she broke down.

Silverwolf’s hands clenched into fists.

They had spent months— Months digging through fragments, searching through countless dead-end data points, chasing a hope that was nothing but a mirage.

And for what?

For it to be ripped away the second they reached out for her?

It was like the universe itself was laughing at them.

Blade hadn't moved.

He was still on his knees, staring at the empty space where you had once stood. His hair fell over his eyes, shadows swallowing his face. His breathing was ragged, uneven.

A slow, suffocating horror crawled up his spine.

You were gone.

No.

No, not just gone— Erased.

This was worse than death.

If you had died, there would at least be something left—a body, a grave, something tangible to mourn.

But there was nothing.

No corpse. No proof that you had ever been there at all.

Just… silence.

A hollow, endless emptiness.

The weight of it hit Blade so hard his entire body locked up, his hands gripping his arms so tightly his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood.

His head tilted down, his breath coming out in short, shaking gasps.

Then, slowly, a sound tore from his throat—low, broken, guttural.

Not a scream.

Not a cry.

Something worse.

It was the sound of a man whose last tether to existence had just been cut.

His fingers twitched toward Agnes, the sword still lying on the floor, its glow completely dimmed.

His chest ached.

Physically, painfully, aching.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Kafka watched him, silent.

There was no teasing remark. No comforting words. No lies to soften the pain.

Even she—someone who had spent years seeing death, losing people, betraying and being betrayed—had nothing to say.

Because what was there to say?

She reached for a cigarette but didn’t light it. Just held it between her fingers, staring at the ground.

Silverwolf was still desperately rerunning the calculations, her hands trembling on the keyboard.

Firefly had curled into herself, crying so quietly it was barely even a sound.

Blade… Blade just sat there, staring at nothing, hands limp at his sides.

His mind was blank.

His chest felt like it had been hollowed out, ripped apart, emptied until there was nothing left.

The air in your limbo was always still.

The sky remained an endless early-morning blue, the horizon stretching infinitely with no sun, no moon—just a hollow, soft glow that never changed.

The lilies around you swayed even though there was no wind. Their white petals rippled gently in a nonexistent breeze, their fragrance mild, familiar, eternal.

You had grown used to this.

How long had you been here?

Time didn't exist in this place. No days, no nights—just the same tranquil, timeless existence.

You had walked through these fields countless times. Sat within them, lay within them, tried to piece together what had happened before you arrived here.

At first, you thought you were dead.

But dead people don’t think, do they?

You still felt things. You still existed—trapped in this plane, this place of stillness and blue.

You had accepted it.

Until now.

The air flickered.

A strange, foreign pulse ran through your body, cold and unfamiliar—like static crawling over your skin.

You turned.

The lilies near your feet had glitched.

For the first time since you had arrived in this eternal, unchanging limbo—something changed.

The blue sky distorted for a second, like a reflection rippling across water. The lilies in the distance flickered, shifted— like static running through a screen.

Your fingers twitched.

That had never happened before.

You took a hesitant step forward, and the moment your foot pressed into the flower-covered ground, another glitch rippled outward—

The sound of distorted voices.

Distant. Unclear.

But they were there.

Your breath caught in your throat.

That was new.

You turned your head sharply, scanning the horizon, searching for the source—

But the sky had already stabilized. The flowers had stopped glitching. The air had returned to its dead stillness.

It was like it never happened.

But it had.

You were sure of it.

Something—or someone—had reached out to you.

And for the first time since being trapped in this place, you felt something other than numb acceptance.

You felt hope.

The moment the world flickered—just for a second, just enough for something to break through—hope took root in your chest.

And you refused to let it go.

Your breathing turned shallow as you steeled yourself. If this place could glitch, if the sky could distort, if voices could reach you—then there had to be a way out.

You just had to break it.

Your hands clenched into fists as you turned toward the vast, endless blue.

Then, you swung.

A pulse of raw energy erupted from your hands, tearing through the air, cutting through the empty horizon. The lilies rippled from the force, petals scattering—

But the sky didn’t break.

Nothing shattered.

You grit your teeth, panting.

Again.

You struck again. Harder. More forceful. Desperate.

The sky flickered. The flowers glitched. A sharp, stinging crack ran through your fingertips.

But the limbo still held.

Your breath came in heavy, shaking gasps. It wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

With a raw, guttural scream, you threw everything into your next attack. Your hands tore through the air, slamming against the fabric of reality itself. Your body shook, the force tearing through your muscles, sending waves of pain ripping through your arms.

Your vision blurred, but you didn’t stop.

Your nails dug into your palms as you struck again, and again, and again.

Your knuckles split open. Blood dripped from your fingertips.

Still, nothing.

The sky still refused to break.

“No,” you whispered, voice hoarse, body trembling. “No—no, no, no—”

You slammed your fists into the ground, clawing at the lilies beneath you. The once-pristine white petals were now stained red, coated in the warm, slick proof of your desperation.

The pain in your hands was unbearable—but it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t strong enough.

You sobbed, shoulders heaving, forehead pressing against the bloodstained lilies.

This place… It was a prison.

No matter how hard you fought, no matter how much you bled—it wouldn’t let you go.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed to your knees, body shaking, hands drenched in blood.

It wasn’t fair.

You had fought. You had bled. You had torn yourself apart trying to break free.

But nothing changed.

This place wouldn’t let you go.

Your lips trembled as you let out a shuddering breath, tears slipping down your cheeks. The sky above you remained the same—empty, unchanging, cruel.

It mocked you.

Your screams ripped through the void. You slammed your fists into the lilies again, sobbing, gasping for air.

You wanted out.

You wanted out.

Your breath hitched, lungs burning, head pounding—but you didn’t stop.

With a final, earth-shattering cry, you poured everything—every ounce of strength, every drop of your existence—into one last, desperate strike.

A surge of power erupted from within you, radiating outwards.

The world cracked.

A violent tremor rocked the field. The sky distorted. The lilies withered, turning black. The air fractured, splitting apart as the limbo screamed in protest.

And then—

It shattered.

A deafening explosion of light, like glass breaking, like the very fabric of reality collapsing in on itself.

And suddenly—

You were falling.

The lilies, the endless blue sky, the prison that held you—it was gone.

Wind rushed past you. The cold kiss of the real world embraced your skin. Stars twinkled above you, endless, boundless.

You were high—so high. The night sky stretched forever, the clouds below you thick and dark, but none of it scared you.

Your body was plummeting, the air tearing through your hair, but all you could do was—

Smile.

♥♥♥

The wind roared in your ears as you plummeted, your body cutting through the sky like a star falling from heaven. The world stretched vast and endless around you—an ocean of darkness speckled with countless stars, each one shimmering like distant fireflies.

The sky above was a deep, boundless abyss, a velvety shade of indigo that swallowed everything whole. The air was crisp and cool against your burning skin, the sharp contrast making you shiver, though not from the cold.

Below, the clouds rolled like waves, a thick, silver mist curling and twisting as if trying to reach for you. The moon hung massive and radiant, a glowing pearl against the void, casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything.

Your white dress billowed wildly, the fabric whipping around you like ghostly tendrils, streaked with the crimson stains of your own battle. The blood smeared against your fingers had long since dried, but you could still feel the raw sting in your palms—the ache of what you had done to escape.

And yet, despite the pain, despite the uncertainty of what lay beneath the clouds, you smiled.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, you were no longer trapped in an endless loop of time, in a world that refused to change.

You could feel the weight of reality pressing against you, the rush of gravity pulling you down, reminding you that you were alive.

And so, you let yourself fall.

The night sky stretched endlessly around you, a cathedral of stars, and you—a soul breaking free from the chains of limbo—descended with nothing but the wind and the moon as your witnesses.

The rush of air screamed around you as you plummeted closer and closer to the ground. The neon glow of the city below grew sharper, more vivid—the blurred streaks of artificial light transforming into a sprawling cybernetic metropolis.

Skyscrapers loomed high, their glass surfaces reflecting the endless sea of neon billboards and holograms. Hovercrafts zipped through the sky, following invisible paths lined with glowing strips of cyan and magenta. The streets far below pulsed with life, movement, sound—a world so vastly different from the timeless limbo you had just escaped.

But you were falling too fast.

Your instincts kicked in. With what little power you had left, you willed the energy around you to bend—to break your descent before you crashed into the unknown city below. A shimmering blue force erupted beneath you, slowing your fall in bursts of crackling energy. Your body hovered just above the pavement, suspended in the glow of your own lingering power, before your feet finally touched solid ground.

For a moment, you just stood there, breathless.

You had made it.

Your fingers trembled as they curled into fists, your bloodied dress clinging to you in the humid night air. The scent of metal, rain, and electricity filled your lungs. The distant hum of machinery, the murmur of the crowd, the mechanical voice of an automated announcement—it was all real.

Slowly, your gaze lifted toward a massive, glowing billboard towering above the street. The neon letters shifted, flickering as a voice echoed through the air:

“Welcome to Ark City.”

The words seared into your mind.

You weren’t just anywhere. This was a place far from what you once knew.

And you had no idea what was waiting for you next.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you walked through the bustling streets of Ark City, your bare feet meeting the cold, smooth pavement. Neon lights reflected off the wet ground, painting everything in hues of blue, pink, and violet. The city was alive—people in cybernetic augments walked past, machines roamed the sidewalks, and the distant hum of hovercrafts buzzed above. You must’ve looked insane—a girl in a bloodstained white dress, barefoot, with scratches on her hands. But no one paid you any mind.

You exhaled, pushing past the aching exhaustion creeping into your bones. You needed a change of clothes—badly.

♥♥♥

Eventually, you spotted a street-side shop with racks of clothes displayed behind a glass window. The store itself was sleek, dark, and minimalistic, glowing with a soft neon-blue light. As you stepped inside, a mechanical voice greeted you:

"Welcome. Please select your items and proceed to the counter."

The place was automated. No humans—just hovering drones scanning the shelves. Good. That meant no questions.

You quickly scanned the racks, grabbing what you needed:

Black cargo pants. Loose yet flexible, with enough mobility for you to move freely.

A simple dark hoodie. Oversized, comfortable, and something you could disappear into.

Fingerless gloves. For better grip—whether in a fight or simply getting things done.

As you walked to the counter, you reached up and unclipped the ornament from your hair—a small, intricately crafted piece of metal infused with a deep blue gemstone. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights, an object of unknown worth, yet something about it felt… valuable.

The scanning drone hovered over it before confirming:

"Transaction accepted. Your item holds high market value. Would you like to receive credits in return?"

You blinked. High market value?

"...Yeah. Give me whatever it's worth."

A small beep followed, and suddenly, a sleek black card slid out of the machine. Your balance was displayed on a tiny holographic screen—enough to last you for a long, long time.

You smirked. Well, that worked out.

♥♥♥

After changing into your new clothes, you felt lighter. The bloodstained dress was shoved into a waste chute, disappearing the moment you tossed it in. You looked normal now—or at least, normal enough for Ark City.

But you weren’t done yet.

Walking through the streets, your eyes landed on a weapons shop. It was nothing fancy—just a run-down store in a darker part of the city, its neon sign flickering. But it had what you wanted.

You stepped inside, scanning the walls lined with all kinds of weapons. Guns, knives, stun batons—but your gaze landed on something simple.

A metal baseball bat.

The weight felt good in your hands as you gave it a test swing. Sturdy. Solid. Reliable.

It’d do just fine.

After paying for the bat, you exited the shop and stood in the middle of the city, gripping the cold steel in your hands. You had money. You had weapons. You had freedom.

Now, the real question was—

What the hell were you going to do next?

The cool metal of the bat rested against your shoulder as you strolled through the neon-drenched streets, pockets stuffed with cash, no plan, no destination—just the desire to do whatever the hell you wanted. Ark City was a playground of chaos and lights, and for the first time in a long while, you weren’t bound by anything.

You ducked into a small convenience store, its shelves stacked with random trinkets, accessories, and snacks. The soft hum of the automated cashier filled the air as you wandered through the aisles.

That’s when your eyes landed on it—a tiny keychain hanging off a display rack, shaped like a blue-purple cat.

You paused, reaching out to take it.

It reminded you of Silverwolf.

A bitter smile tugged at your lips as your fingers ran over the smooth surface of the keychain. Her dumb little game-loving ass would’ve totally had something like this hanging off her bag. You shook your head, but instead of putting it back, you brought it to the counter.

♥♥♥

After stuffing the keychain in your pocket, your eyes landed on a glass display case filled with jewelry. Most of it was over-the-top, but one piece caught your attention—a silver ring with a thin red line running through it.

Your throat tightened. It reminded you of him.

Blade.

You clenched your jaw. You shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be picking things that reminded you of them—of a life that wasn’t yours anymore. But your fingers still curled around the ring, slipping it into your pocket along with the keychain.

♥♥♥

You left the store and walked through the streets, letting the night guide your steps. The scent of something sweet drifted through the air, and you followed it until you found yourself standing in front of a small bakery stall.

Your gaze flickered over the menu—and your chest tightened.

Oak cake rolls.

Your fingers twitched. Firefly loved these.

She’d always eat them with a stupid little smile, her hands barely keeping up with the crumbs that fell from her lips. You exhaled sharply and ordered one. When you took the first bite, the soft, sweet flavor melted onto your tongue, and for a second—just a second—you could almost hear her laughter.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

♥♥♥

Your last stop was another store filled with more jewelry and accessories, but this time, your eyes searched for something specific.

And there it was—a small necklace with a silver spider charm.

Kafka.

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. It was ridiculous. What were you even doing? But your fingers still curled around the chain, and before you could think too hard about it, you bought it.

Now, you stood outside the store, gripping the bat in one hand while your other hand toyed with the small collection of items stuffed in your pocket.

You sighed, looking up at the towering skyline of Ark City.

You had money. You had a weapon. You had freedom.

But even now, with the entire city before you—

Why did it still feel like something was missing?

The electronic shop was sleek, filled with holographic advertisements and walls lined with the latest gadgets. The low hum of tech blended with the muffled beats of some upbeat song playing over the speakers.

You strolled past the displays, fingers lightly brushing over different models of headphones before stopping at a pair that caught your eye—sturdy, comfortable, and built to drown out the world.

Perfect. Holy shit you missed your electronics so much.

Grabbing them, you made your way toward the phone section. It didn’t take long to find a model that suited you—nothing too fancy, just something that worked. The cashier barely looked at you as they scanned the items.

♥♥♥

You stepped outside, the cold night air brushing against your skin as you powered up your new phone. The moment the screen flickered to life, you instinctively logged into your old account.

It had been so long. Too long.

Your fingers hovered over the screen as notifications from an eternity ago flooded in—messages you never got to read, calls you never answered. The weight in your chest grew heavier, but you forced yourself to scroll past them.

Instead, you focused on setting up your phone, connecting your new headphones and adjusting the settings.

And then—

A shiver ran down your spine.

You froze.

That energy.

It was distant, but unmistakable—the pulsing, raw presence of a Stellaron.

Your breath hitched, your grip tightening on the bat as your gaze slowly lifted toward the horizon.

Something was here.

♥♥♥

Your body moved with purpose, muscles remembering movements that had once been second nature.

As soon as that pulsing energy of the Stellaron hit your senses, you didn’t hesitate. The second you took off, the city became a blur—lights streaking past like shooting stars as you weaved through the dense streets of Ark City. People barely registered in your vision as you slipped through the gaps in the crowd, dodging and pivoting with ease.

The rhythmic thud of your boots against the pavement was drowned out by the roar of the metropolis. Bright holographic billboards flashed advertisements, neon signs buzzed overhead, and the smell of metal and coolant filled the air. The city was alive—thrumming with technology, towering skyscrapers stretching into the sky, and a web of interconnected rooftops that became your playground.

A set of metal stairs leading up a building caught your eye. Without breaking stride, you jumped onto the railing instead of the steps, using your momentum to launch yourself higher. Your hands gripped the ledge above, body swinging up and over with practiced agility.

The moment your feet touched concrete, you kept moving.

Faster.

Your heart pounded with adrenaline as you sprinted across the rooftops, leaping across gaps that would have terrified any normal person. The wind howled past your ears, the city stretching endlessly below you. You moved like you belonged there—a shadow weaving through the skyline.

But then—a whirring sound.

Your instincts screamed at you to dodge.

You twisted mid-air—just as a massive mechanical arm crashed down where you had been moments before. The rooftop beneath cracked on impact, debris flying everywhere.

Your eyes flicked up.

Towering before you stood a massive combat drone, its sleek metal plating reflecting the neon glow of the city. Its glowing red optics locked onto you, scanning your form with an eerie hum. You had no time to process before you heard another sound—a mechanical whine followed by the sharp crackle of energy charging.

More were coming.

Your grip tightened around your baseball bat. You exhaled, muscles coiling, a smirk playing at your lips.

"Guess I’ll be having some fun tonight."

The first bot lunged—a metal arm swinging down with lethal force. You ducked, spinning low to the ground as it smashed into the rooftop, sending cracks through the surface. Before it could recover, you surged forward, swinging your bat directly into its joint. The impact sent a shudder through your arms, but you felt the satisfying crunch of metal buckling under the force.

Without missing a beat, you twisted your body, flipping onto the back of the bot as another drone fired a blast toward you. The energy projectile barely missed, scorching the air where you had been.

Using the momentum, you leaped off, twisting in mid-air to bring your bat down on the second drone’s head. The reinforced alloy dented under the force, sparks flying as it crashed to the ground.

You didn’t stop.

You ran, flipping off railings, vaulting over pipes, and dodging more attacks with fluid precision. The city became an obstacle course, and you were unstoppable.

Another drone rushed at you. You ducked under its swipe, kicking off the side of a neon billboard to gain height, flipping over its head. As you landed behind it, you swung your bat into its exposed power core— a flash of electricity crackling as the machine staggered and collapsed.

But they kept coming.

Through the chaos, your focus never wavered. Your body moved on pure instinct—flowing, adapting, striking. Every hit was precise, every movement calculated. You weren’t just running toward the Stellaron anymore.

You were carving your path straight through.

And with each step forward, the pulse of the Stellaron’s energy grew stronger.

The last drone stood before you, its metal frame gleaming under the artificial lights of Ark City. This one was larger than the rest, its sleek black plating lined with pulsing crimson circuits—a clear indication that it was more than just a regular combat unit. Its optics whirred and locked onto you, scanning your battered figure with eerie precision.

It moved first.

The bot lunged with terrifying speed, its massive arm swinging down in a brutal arc meant to crush you instantly. But you were already moving—twisting your body, just barely slipping past the strike. The force of impact shattered the rooftop beneath where you stood moments before, sending shards of debris flying into the air.

Your grip on your bat tightened. Your body ached, your breath came in sharp pants, but adrenaline drowned out the exhaustion. You had come too far to stop now.

The drone pivoted, launching a barrage of energy blasts in your direction. You ducked, flipped, and weaved between the attacks with inhuman fluidity—your body moving purely on instinct. The scorching heat of the projectiles brushed past you, but you never faltered.

Then—an opening.

You rushed in, closing the gap faster than the machine could react. With all the strength you had left, you swung your bat straight into its chest—right into its exposed power core.

CRACK!

The impact sent a violent jolt through your arms, but you felt the satisfying shudder of metal breaking. Sparks erupted as the bot staggered backward, its circuits flickering erratically.

Not enough.

You spun on your heel, gripping the bat with both hands, and slammed it down again—harder.

CRASH!

The core shattered. Electricity surged wildly through the bot’s frame before its entire body went rigid. A second later—it collapsed, lifeless and defeated.

Silence.

You stood there, chest rising and falling heavily, as the wind carried the smell of burnt metal.

You won.

Your eyes flickered toward your bat—its surface dented, chipped, and streaked with black oil from the countless enemies you had taken down. Your hands, covered in scrapes and bruises, trembled slightly from the sheer exertion.

And then, you finally looked up.

The Stellaron was close—its pulsating golden energy illuminating the area in an ethereal glow. You could feel its presence buzzing deep within your bones, calling to you in a way you couldn’t fully understand.

You took a step forward.

But then—your breath caught in your throat.

Your gaze locked onto the figures standing near the Stellaron. Familiar figures.

Your blood ran cold.

Kafka. Silver Wolf. Firefly.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as the realization hit. The Stellaron Hunters.

They were here. ♥♥♥

Your hoodie, once pristine, was now scuffed and dirtied with dust, smoke, and streaks of oil from the bots you had destroyed. The fabric held up surprisingly well, proving its durability despite the hell you had just put it through.

Your cargo pants were slightly torn in places, nothing too drastic, but enough to show that they had endured the sheer intensity of the fight. Your fingerless gloves were stained—blood from your knuckles mixing with the black smears of machine oil.

Strands of your hair clung to your face, slightly damp from sweat, but your eyes still burned with determination. Despite everything—the exhaustion, the injuries, the endless running and fighting—you looked alive.

And as you stood there, gripping your battered baseball bat, staring at the Stellaron Hunters—you wondered…

Did they even recognize you?

The Stellaron pulsed, its eerie blue light flickering across the metallic rooftops of Ark City, illuminating the smoke-filled air in an almost hypnotic rhythm. The high-rise buildings stretched into the distance, their neon signs flickering like stars against the abyss of the night sky. Somewhere far below, the hum of the city continued—cars speeding down illuminated roads, crowds gathering in districts overflowing with artificial lights and holographic advertisements. But up here, it was silent.

Too silent.

Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Firefly stood near the Stellaron, their figures bathed in its luminescent glow. They hadn’t noticed you yet—not truly.

Silver Wolf was closest to the Stellaron, tapping away at her holo-screen with laser focus, a faint blue shimmer flickering across her glasses as she read through whatever data she had pulled up. Her short, silver-purple hair swayed slightly as she tilted her head, seemingly puzzled by the readings.

“This isn’t normal,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “The energy signature is fluctuating. It’s like something already tried to influence it…”

Firefly stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, her sleek, high-tech mech suit reflecting the glow of the Stellaron. Her blue-peach pink eyes which were like the sunset, narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face. She was tense—on edge.

And Kafka?

She was the furthest back, yet somehow the most aware. Her magenta eyes scanned the rooftop like she had already sensed something was off. One gloved hand rested on her hip, while the other twirled a strand of her deep burgundy hair lazily between her fingers.

A smirk tugged at her lips, but her usual playful ease was undercut by something sharper—a quiet, calculated wariness.

Then—she stopped twirling her hair.

The shift was subtle, but immediate.

“...We’re not alone,” she mused, her voice smooth yet laced with something unreadable.

Silver Wolf snapped her head up. Firefly instinctively took a step forward, her stance defensive.

The air grew colder.

A breeze rustled through the rooftop, carrying the lingering scent of burnt metal, smoke, and electricity. It was only then that they noticed—the wreckage.

The scattered remains of the robotic sentries lay across the rooftop in twisted, smoking heaps. Metal limbs severed, cores shattered, wires sparking. Something—someone—had torn through them.

Someone fast. Someone strong.

Someone who was standing right behind them.

Silver Wolf’s fingers twitched over her holo-screen. Firefly’s eyes sharpened, her fingers subtly curling as if ready to summon her weapon at any moment. Kafka simply turned her head ever so slightly, that unreadable smirk still playing on her lips.

And then, you took a step forward.

Your boots scraped against the rooftop, slow and deliberate. The neon lights of the city cast a long shadow in front of you, stretching toward them like the hand of a ghost. Your hood was pulled low, obscuring your eyes. But even without seeing them, you knew their gazes were locked onto you now.

“Who the hell…?” Silver Wolf muttered under her breath.

You didn’t answer. You just stood there, bat resting over your shoulder, body tense yet completely still. The oversized hoodie you wore fluttered slightly in the wind, barely hiding the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath.

The tension was thick.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then—Kafka chuckled.

“Now, this is interesting,” she mused, turning her body fully to face you. Her violet eyes gleamed with something dangerous—curiosity.

Firefly, however, wasn’t as amused. Her golden eyes burned with suspicion.

“You fought those drones, didn’t you?” she asked, voice sharp. Not a question—an accusation.

You tilted your head slightly, but still, you didn’t speak.

Silver Wolf’s gaze flickered down—noticing the dents and scratches on your metal bat, the streaks of black oil staining your gloves. Her brows furrowed.

“…Who are you?” she asked, voice quieter this time.

You exhaled softly. Finally, you reached up with one hand—gripping the edge of your hood.

And then, you pulled it back.

Your hair, messy from the fight, spilled out from beneath the hood. Your eyes, sharp and piercing, were finally revealed.

The moment they saw you, the world seemed to stop.

Silver Wolf froze. Firefly’s breath hitched.

Kafka?

For the first time in a long, long time—she looked genuinely surprised.

Silence.

And then—

“…No way,” Silver Wolf whispered, voice trembling. Her fingers curled into fists.

Firefly took a step forward, her sunset eyes wide with something dangerously close to disbelief.

“…It can’t be,” Firefly said, barely above a whisper.

Your gaze met theirs. A storm of emotions swirled behind their eyes—shock, disbelief, fear, hope—yet none of them dared to move.

Kafka was the first to recover.

Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. A mix of amusement and something deeper—something that looked almost like relief.

“…Now, this,” she said, voice like silk, “is a reunion I never expected.”

The Stellaron pulsed behind them, its eerie glow casting long shadows against the rooftop of Ark City. The hum of neon lights flickered through the thick, night-chilled air, the city below alive with the muted echoes of cars, distant chatter, and the occasional mechanical whir of passing drones.

But up here—on this isolated, broken battlefield—the world was silent.

Kafka stood with a smirk that was just a little too stiff, her violet eyes narrowing with intrigue, but the two others?

They were frozen.

Firefly, always composed, stared at you like she was seeing a ghost. Her blue-peach eyes widened, disbelief crashing over her face like a tidal wave. Her hands, which were usually clenched into fists out of habit, trembled at her sides.

Silver Wolf—Silver Wolf actually took a step back.

Her holo-screen flickered out of existence, forgotten. Her fingers hovered, twitching like she was trying to reboot her own brain.

Neither of them could move. Neither of them could breathe.

Until they did.

Firefly was the first. The moment her mind caught up, she bolted forward.

The next thing you knew—arms wrapped around you.

She crashed into you like a meteor, the force nearly knocking you off balance. You barely had time to register the warmth of her before—

“You idiot,” Firefly choked out, her voice unsteady. Her fingers clutched your hoodie like she was scared you’d vanish again.

Then—Silver Wolf.

She latched onto your side, gripping you like a lifeline. Her head pressed against your shoulder, and for the first time in forever, her cocky, easygoing demeanor completely shattered.

“…You were dead,” she muttered, voice tight. “You were—”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

The weight of their arms, the sheer force of their emotions, it hit you like a tidal wave. They were shaking. They were actually shaking.

The two people who never let their emotions slip—who never let their guard down—were holding onto you like they never wanted to let go.

And then—

A sharp inhale.

A presence—one that had been completely, eerily still since the moment you arrived.

Blade.

He stood at the very back, partially obscured by the Stellaron’s glow, his sword still gripped in his hand.

But he hadn’t moved.

He hadn’t spoken.

He hadn’t even breathed.

The shock on his face was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

His usual impassive, unshaken expression? Gone.

Instead, his crimson eyes—so often cold, distant—were wide. His lips were parted just slightly, like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to speak your name—

But he couldn’t.

Because if he did, if he let himself believe what he was seeing—what he was feeling—he might break.

His grip on his sword tightened. The tension in his shoulders was unbearable, like a coiled spring seconds away from snapping. His breath was uneven, shallow. His entire world—his entire, painstakingly built existence—was shattering right in front of him.

Because you were supposed to be dead.

He had mourned you. He had spent days, weeks, months—lost in grief, in anger, in suffocating guilt.

And yet—

You were here.

Standing before him.

Breathing.

Alive.

Your hoodie—the one you had just bought—was dirtied, torn at the sleeve, but it still held. The cargo pants, loose and flexible, were scuffed from battle. Fingerless gloves covered your hands, streaked with oil and a bit of blood.

But it was you.

Blade felt his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Too fast. Too violent. Too real.

His jaw clenched.

And then—he took a step forward.

A slow, deliberate step.

The sound of his boots against the rooftop was deafening in the silence.

Silver Wolf and Firefly barely registered it, too caught up in their relief to even acknowledge Blade’s presence.

But you?

You looked up.

And in that moment, your eyes met.

Time stopped.

For a split second—just a fraction of a heartbeat—Blade saw everything in those eyes.

The exhaustion. The pain. The sheer, raw desperation that had clawed its way through your soul just to get back.

And something inside him snapped.

His sword clattered to the ground.

A harsh, shuddering exhale left his lips. His fists clenched at his sides—knuckles white from the sheer force of restraint.

His mind was screaming at him to move. To close the distance. To touch you. To make sure you were real.

But his body refused to obey.

Because the moment he let himself believe this wasn’t a dream—that you were actually here, alive, breathing—

He would break.

And this time, he might not recover.

The moment lingered between you and Blade, heavy and suffocating, the air thick with emotions neither of you had the words for. The Stellaron behind the others pulsed with an unsettling glow, its energy humming through the air like a silent, omnipotent force, but none of that mattered. Not when his crimson eyes were still locked onto yours, wide with something fragile and volatile all at once.

Then, Silver Wolf and Firefly, still breathless, their chests rising and falling rapidly from the sheer emotional overload, seemed to snap back to reality.

“…We need to check the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf’s voice was quieter than usual, her sharp confidence buried under layers of lingering shock.

Firefly hesitated for only a moment before nodding, though she glanced back at you as if she wasn’t sure if she could leave you alone. But whatever was going on with the Stellaron, it was urgent—something big enough that they needed to act fast.

“You stay here.” Firefly’s voice was gentler than usual, almost hesitant, almost like she didn’t want to let go. “We’ll be back. Just—stay here.”

Silver Wolf, still visibly shaken, exhaled sharply before pulling up a holographic screen, fingers typing at rapid speed. She didn’t even look at you when she spoke—maybe because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to leave either.

“Kafka,” she called, her voice carrying that same tension that hadn’t yet faded. “Come with us.”

Kafka, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with an unreadable expression, let out a soft hum. She placed a gloved hand on her hip, head tilting slightly, amusement flickering in her violet eyes—but underneath it, there was something else. Something deeper, something she didn’t say out loud.

“Sure thing.”

But before she turned to leave, she glanced at Blade.

And in that single glance, everything was said.

She knew.

She always knew.

That out of everyone, Blade was the one who had suffered the most in your absence.

That out of everyone, he was the one who had lost the most when you vanished.

And now that you were back?

She wouldn’t interfere.

“Stay with them, Blade,” Kafka said smoothly, her voice laced with something almost affectionate, but when he didn’t respond—when he didn’t even blink—she merely turned away, following Silver Wolf and Firefly towards the Stellaron.

And just like that—

It was just the two of you.

The air around you felt different.

Like the world had tilted on its axis, like the cityscape had faded into nothing, like the only thing grounding you to reality was the sound of Blade’s uneven breaths.

You didn’t know how long you stood there. Staring at him. Feeling his gaze burn into you with an intensity so raw, so overwhelming, it nearly made your knees buckle.

And then—he moved.

In a single, swift motion, he closed the distance.

Before you could even react, his arms wrapped around you.

And Blade—Blade held you like he was afraid you would disappear again.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t controlled.

It was desperate.

His arms, strong and scarred, caged you in completely. His muscles tensed as he crushed you against him, his entire body trembling ever so slightly.

His breath was uneven, shaky as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hair brushing against your skin. The warmth of him, the sheer presence of him, was suffocating in the best way possible.

And then—you felt it.

A slight, fleeting touch. The faintest press of his lips against your skin.

It was barely noticeable, so soft you almost thought you imagined it, but it was there.

And it was enough to make your entire body lock up.

Blade, the man who had spent so long trapped in his own grief, his own pain, his own relentless torment—was now here. Holding you. Clinging to you. Desperately.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, gripping it so tightly it might tear. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the fact that you were here, alive, breathing.

He needed to feel it.

He needed to feel you.

To confirm that this wasn’t some cruel illusion.

That you wouldn’t vanish if he let go.

That he wasn’t dreaming.

His entire body was shaking. His heart pounded against his ribs, an erratic rhythm that he couldn’t control. He had no control. Not over his breathing, not over his thoughts, not over the unbearable ache in his chest that had been suffocating him for months.

He tightened his hold, pressing you closer, drowning in the feeling of you.

Because if this was a dream—if this was just another hallucination brought on by grief—then he never wanted to wake up.

Blade held you so tightly it almost hurt. Almost. But you didn’t mind—not when you could feel the way his body trembled, not when you could hear the erratic rhythm of his breaths against your skin, uneven and shaky.

His arms were unrelenting, strong, scarred, warm. The weight of his presence, the sheer intensity of his grip, made it clear—he wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever.

And then—you felt it again.

His lips.

A ghost of a touch against the crook of your neck, rough yet reverent, trembling yet firm.

A whisper. A groan. Your name, spoken in a voice so raw, so deep, so broken.

He was unraveling.

Blade—stoic, untouchable, unreadable Blade—was falling apart in your arms.

The air was thick with emotions, almost suffocating in its intensity. The cityscape around you blurred into irrelevance—the neon lights, the distant hum of traffic, the soft glow of the Stellaron behind you. None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was him.

The man who had mourned you.

The man who had suffered in your absence.

The man who had spent months drowning in agony, unable to move forward, unable to let go—because how could he, when you were everything?

For the first time since you returned, Blade pulled away just slightly.

Just enough for you to see his face.

And—oh.

His eyes.

His crimson eyes looked so vulnerable.

So desperate.

So utterly, devastatingly fragile.

Blade wasn’t just looking at you—he was drinking in the sight of you, memorizing every detail as if afraid you would disappear if he blinked.

His hands slowly, carefully, moved up to your shoulders, fingers grazing your hoodie, lingering there like he was trying to convince himself that this was real. That you were real.

His breathing was uneven. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but the words wouldn’t come.

Because what could he possibly say?

What words could ever be enough to describe the way his world had shattered when he lost you?

The way he had ached for you, suffered for you, longed for you?

The way he had convinced himself that he would never get to see you again?

His fingers twitched against your hoodie, his entire body trembling with restrained emotion. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and for a brief, fleeting moment—

You saw it.

The slightest glimmer of moisture in his eyes.

Tears.

Blade, the man who never showed weakness, was on the verge of tears.

And then, before you could say anything, before you could even breathe—he pulled you back in.

Even tighter than before.

Even more desperate.

He buried his face against your shoulder, his arms caging you in, his body pressing into yours, as if trying to merge into you completely.

And in a voice so low, so deep, so utterly wrecked—

He whispered your name again.

This time, his voice cracked.

The moment was thick—heavy with longing, with emotions too raw to be spoken aloud. Blade’s body was still so close, the warmth of his embrace lingering against your skin, his face barely inches away from yours. His eyes—still yearning, still desperate, still so full of everything he refused to say.

His fingers twitched, reluctant to move, reluctant to put space between you. He was still drinking you in, memorizing you, as if letting go meant losing you all over again.

And then—the moment shattered.

“[NAME]!!”

A blur of motion—and then a weight slammed into you at full force.

“GAH—!”

Your breath was nearly knocked out of your lungs as a small but powerful force wrapped around you like a vice.

Silverwolf.

She latched onto you like a menace, clinging so tightly it was like she was trying to fuse into your very being.

Her arms around your waist, her head buried against your chest, shaking.

You barely had a second to register the warmth of her body against yours before—

Another impact.

A second weight barreled into your side, almost making you stumble.

Firefly.

She wasn’t nearly as aggressive as Silverwolf, but she was just as desperate. Her arms circled around you, her face pressing into your shoulder, trembling against your hoodie.

And then—you heard it.

The soft, muffled hiccup.

And then another.

And then—the quiet, shaky sobs.

Your eyes widened. They were crying.

Silverwolf—who always acted like she didn’t care, like she was too cool for emotions, was shaking in your arms.

Firefly—sweet, gentle Firefly—was holding you so tightly like she was terrified you’d slip away.

Your hoodie was getting damp from where their faces were pressed against you, their shoulders shaking as they sobbed into you, clinging to you like you were the last thing anchoring them to reality.

You felt something twist painfully inside your chest.

These two—these girls who had become your family—had suffered so much in your absence.

Their cries were quiet, muffled, yet so devastatingly broken.

Silverwolf’s grip on you tightened even more, her fingers digging into the fabric of your hoodie as she whispered through gritted teeth—

“You absolute… fucking… dumbass…”

Her voice cracked.

You exhaled softly, your own eyes stinging.

“…Yeah. I missed you too.”

Firefly sniffled, squeezing you even tighter. “…Don’t ever do that again. Please.”

You slowly, carefully, wrapped your arms around them.

And for a moment—nothing else mattered.

Not the city, not the Stellaron, not the battle you had just fought.

Only this.

Only them.

Only the warmth of family that you had lost—and found again.

But as you held them close, you felt something else.

A gaze. A presence—still near, still lingering.

You looked up—and Blade was still standing there.

Watching you.

His arms were stiff at his sides, his expression carefully blank—but his eyes.

God, his eyes.

So many emotions swirled in those crimson depths.

Love. Longing. Relief. And just a bit of heartbreak.

Because he wanted to be the one still holding you.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

Just watched—as if knowing you were safe was the only thing keeping him standing.

The air still felt thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Even as Silverwolf and Firefly clung to you like you’d disappear if they let go, you could still feel Blade’s stare burning into you.

But before you could say anything, Silverwolf abruptly pulled away, sniffing and wiping her face aggressively, as if embarrassed by her outburst.

“Ugh, enough of this emotional shit.” She cleared her throat and straightened up, brushing off her hoodie like she hadn’t just been sobbing into you. “You need food. We’re getting pizza.”

Firefly nodded furiously. “Yes. And you’re eating properly this time.”

You blinked. “I—”

“No arguments.” Silverwolf snapped her fingers, already turning on her heel. “Let’s go.”

Firefly was already pulling on your arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on! You need something warm in your stomach!”

You sighed in defeat, but you weren’t really complaining. The idea of sitting down with them, eating something normal—it felt surreal.

Blade, however, still hadn’t moved.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze.

“…You coming?”

For a moment, he just stared.

Then—he scoffed, looking away. “Hmph.”

But he still followed. ♥♥♥

The pizzeria was cozy, dimly lit, and smelled like heaven.

The moment you stepped inside, Silverwolf was already shoving a menu at your face.

“Pick something with a lot of protein and carbs. You look like a half-dead cryptid.”

Firefly huffed. “Don’t be mean. She’s been through a lot.”

“…And she looks like a half-dead cryptid.”

You just rolled your eyes and took the menu, but as you glanced up—you froze.

Across the table, Blade had just sat down.

In a disguise.

A terrible disguise.

A long, black coat, a dark turtleneck, and—oh god—

A hat. A baseball cap.

And sunglasses.

At night. Inside a pizzeria.

You stared.

You blinked.

And then—you laughed.

Loud.

Unrestrained.

A genuine, full-bodied, stomach-aching laugh.

Blade stiffened immediately, scowling. “What?”

You barely had time to catch your breath. “Are—are you serious? The hat? The sunglasses? Inside?”

Silverwolf snorted. “Yeah, he looks like he’s either hiding from the paparazzi or about to commit arson.”

Firefly covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “I—I thought we agreed he didn’t need a disguise.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, still chuckling. “Blade. You look ridiculous.”

He glared, adjusting the sunglasses. “Tch. It’s for precaution.”

You only laughed harder.

The ride back to the Stellaron Hunters’ ship was quieter than expected. Firefly had been talking about the pizza for the first ten minutes, Silverwolf had been boasting about some new hacking achievement, but eventually, both of them began to doze off, exhaustion finally catching up.

By the time you boarded the ship, Silverwolf and Firefly were barely standing. Yet, despite swaying on their feet, both stubbornly refused to go to sleep.

“We’re fine,” Silverwolf grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she leaned against a control panel.

“Yeah,” Firefly mumbled, “Not even tired.”

Kafka sighed, rubbing her temples before swiftly pinching their pressure points.

In a blink, both of them collapsed into unconsciousness.

You gawked. “Did you just—”

“They need sleep,” Kafka said simply, catching Firefly before she hit the ground. “You do too.”

Before you could argue, Kafka pulled you into a tight embrace.

Her warmth was comforting, the gentle way she held you—as if you’d slip away if she let go.

“Welcome back, dear.” Her voice was low, fond, but there was an edge of something deeper—relief, love. Like she had lost you once and refused to let it happen again.

Your arms wrapped around her instinctively, breathing in her familiar scent. “…It’s good to be back.”

Kafka smiled, then patted your head.

“Get some rest.”

With that, she turned away, carrying Firefly while Blade effortlessly picked up Silverwolf, disappearing into the ship’s quarters.

But sleep never came.

You stood on the balcony of the ship, overlooking the vastness of space. The stars stretched endlessly, glimmering against the dark abyss. You should’ve felt at peace.

But instead—your chest was heavy.

Too much had happened. Too much had changed.

And Blade—

“You should be resting.”

His voice cut through the quiet, deep and familiar.

You didn’t turn around. “So should you.”

He walked closer, his presence alone sending warmth through your cold fingers. Then, he stood beside you, gazing at the stars.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“I thought you were gone.”

You felt your breath hitch. The rawness in his voice—it wasn’t something he ever showed.

When you turned, you finally saw it—

The unguarded pain in his crimson eyes.

“…Blade.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.” He exhaled sharply, as if trying to control himself.

And then—his hands suddenly gripped your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“I thought I lost you.” His voice was hoarse, his fingers tightening. “I was ready to destroy anything—anyone—to bring you back.”

Your eyes widened. “…Blade.”

His forehead pressed against yours, and you could feel his uneven breathing, the sheer desperation in his touch.

“Don’t do that again.”

Your heart pounded. “…What?”

His hands trembled against your skin. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was Blade—reserved, quiet, always hiding his emotions. But now—

He was breaking in front of you.

Your hands slowly came up, cupping his face.

“…I won’t.” Your voice was quiet, firm. “I won’t leave.”

Blade exhaled shakily. His eyes flickered to your lips.

And then—

He kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate—like he needed to feel that you were real, that you weren’t just another dream slipping through his fingers.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

He responded immediately, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours. His lips moved hungrily, devouring you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

You gasped against him, and he swallowed the sound, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss even more.

It was consuming.

Your fingers traced the scars on his arms, and he groaned against your lips, shuddering at the sensation.

He pulled back for a brief moment, eyes glazed with longing. His lips were slightly swollen along with his bottom lip bleeding a little, his breath ragged.

“…I love you, God I'm infatuated with you.” He groans out, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, this time letting himself get lost in you, your skin, your warmth, your scent. His lips latch on your neck, leaving feather-like kisses over your neck. And then his hands find yours, intertwining them as if to make sure you’re truly here. His fingers, rough and scarred from years of battle, tremble slightly as they weave between yours. He strokes your knuckles with his thumb, tracing the lines of your hand like he’s memorizing every detail. His grip is firm, but not suffocating—he just needs to feel you, to remind himself that you’re not slipping away again. Then, suddenly, his hands gripped your thighs. In one swift movement, he lifted you off the ground, his strength effortless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His grip on you was possessive, firm, his chest rising and falling as he walked—no, carried you—to his quarters. Each step was deliberate, his breathing heavy in your ear, the sensation of his warmth radiating through his clothes, through yours.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and the moment you were inside, Blade pressed you against it, lips finding yours again with even more urgency. His hands roamed, memorizing, worshipping, while his grip on you never wavered. His fingers ghosted up your spine, sending sparks down your body as he deepened the kiss. His heart was racing, his body pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

His lips trailed downward, along your jaw, down to your neck where he whispered your name, breath hot, voice wrecked. His grip on you never loosened, and as he carried you further into the dimly lit room, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the quiet hum of the ship in the background, and the pounding of his heartbeat against your own.

He wasn’t letting go—not now, not ever.

OH MY FUCKING GOD FINALLY BRO I STRUGGLED SO MUCH WRIITNG KISS SCENES, I CANNOT WRITE KISS SCENES EVEN IFMY LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. im gonna write some sweetheart fluff after this I cannto deal with this shit any longer man 😭

Pleaj like comment and follow if u like my work guys 🤓☝️requests r open !!

[decayical]

✦ ── SOFTLY, SWEETLY !

❝ blade loves you, he will never stop loving you . ❞

01 notes: i literally have nothing to put here like ever ... this was my first time writing soft dom im pretty sure i hope it's ok 🙏🙏

02 tags: praise kink, dumbification, unintentional edging, a bit angsty a but fluffy if you squint, creampie, afab/gn reader, puppy/sweetheart/baby used as pet names, blade is called bladie :3

03 mdni blogs do not interact! a minor wrote this. word count 848

“so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, fuck—so pretty, just for me.”

blade let out a soft whimper as he continued to thrust gently into you, his tongue slightly lolling out of his mouth as he stared into space. he probably didn't even realize how tangled up he and you were in the blankets, because all on his mind was you, you, you. your pretty face, your flushed cheeks, your soft thighs and the oh-so-heavenly way you squeezed around his fat cock.

though, to be fair, it's not like you were much better—despite blade's slow movements, the drag of his cock along your walls was enough to fuck you dumb, making your head fuzzy in the best way possible. you had been teetering on the edge of a climax for so long you became much more sensitive than usual, and even though you desperately wanted to cum you still love, love, loved the feeling—being beneath him, completely at his mercy.

blade tilted his head down to connect your tongue to his, the sloppy kiss being the only thing to ground you as he let out a pretty little moan, snapping his hips into yours just once, but it was enough to make you squeal and writhe around under his hold. in that moment, he was so deep inside of you that his tip was probably kissing your cervix from how full you felt, the unfamiliar sensation quickly becoming too much as you arched your back, trying to make sense of the situation.

blade cursed internally, shushing you and pressing comforting kisses all over your exposed neck to distract yourself from the sudden pain. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, my love…” he continued to whisper to you, resuming his slow, sensual movements as he started to rub your clit with a calloused thumb.

you squealed again, your back arching as tears pricked the corner of your eyes and you reached out to tug at his hair. “blade, blade, ‘s too big! too much, hurts, fuck, more, so—ah—so full…”

blade let out a soft chuckle, his thumb doused in your arousal moving up to caress your cheek. “you're not making any sense, puppy. is it too much or not?” he asked teasingly, licking your jaw. “like that, yeah? right here?” his thrusts suddenly got more aggressive again, but not like he was trying to stab you with his dick—they were sharp, the thrusts inward so fast you could barely process what was happening, but he'd drag his cock out of your slick walls so painfully slow a frustrated moan left your mouth.

“blaaaade,” you whined, toes curling as your legs wrapped around his waist, “love you…”

blade’s chest panged with a sort of emotion he was unfamiliar with, yet somehow the sensation felt nostalgic to him at the same time. “oh, baby,” he cooed, tucking a strand of hair away from your face, “i love you too. taking me so well, hmm? ‘s just like you were made for this dick.”

his musings made your heart flutter as your cheeks burned up, you nodded vigorously in agreement as he moved his hands to pin your wrists above your head. “mm, yeah made f’ you, made just f’ you, bladie.”

you let out this bright smile that always seemed to make blade's day, and you nuzzled the forearm and hand that was close to your head. you peppered kisses all over his scarred wrists, feeling his hands twitch and tighten over your own.

“fuck, i—i love you.” blade's head swam, the coil in his stomach tightening as he let out another shy moan. “gonna let me cum inside you, pretty? gonna let me make you all mine?”

you whined, wiggling your hips to get more friction. “c–close,” was the only thing you managed to say, but to blade it was good enough.

“we cum together,” he mumbles, hand gently grazing your jaw as he kisses you softly, deliciously. he never once changed his pace, always keeping it slow, soft, firm, but it was still enough to have his thighs twitching and your walls fluttering around him, the comfort in each other more than enough.

you came first, letting out a high-pitched squeal as you tightened around him and your fluids covered the base of his dick. blade's eyes fell closed, he muttered “fuck”, before thrusting into you just once more before he let you milk his cock. he kept on moving, trying to prolong both of your orgasms, shaky breaths leaving his chest and he whined. his release filled you to the brim and then started to spill out, truly a mesmerizing sight.

his hands let go of yours and shyly, you reached for his neck, delving into a kiss. his tongue glided over yours, tasting everything you had to offer. “so good for me,” he whispered, trailing your jaw with his fingers.

“fuck… again, bladie,” you whined, moving to rile him up. “‘gain, please? wan’ your cock.”

blade huffed. “you have that, sweetheart.” he grabbed your jaw to make you look directly into his eyes. “you have that and more.”

[justblades]

⌕ FLIMSY FEELINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : blade x afab! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, somno, voyeur! blade, oral (fem receiving), sadistic masochistic themes, mutual masturb#tion, cunnilingus

⟢ A/N : we don't have much info abt his character rn but i tried my best with the available provided info as of the moment !! enjoy <3

raven hair ripples from the bitter cold winds blowing, the glint of crisp solferino hues show a reflection of an unknown person - someone the stellaron hunters just happened to pick up as they tread upon weaving the threads of fate, just how the screen play director foretold.

it was just blade and you alone, encompassed by the archaic, gunmetal gray walls. blade watches your slumbering figure as he wears a solemn face, lips pressed into a thin line, not showing any kind of expression at all except for a stoic mask.

is it really a mask? no one could tell. blade just proceeds to stride towards your body, feeling an aching sensation he needed to tend to. it's a feeling he'd come to despise - but it's still a part of his bodily function. even though he abandoned his old way of living and is now in a pursuit of his path to vengeance, there are trivial things he must fulfill at once.

blade slowly descends to your position, vision still not anchoring away from your dozing shape. humans truly are fragile, he thought to himself— to see someone in their vulnerable state, it feels quite intimate. it was an epiphany blade had for a long time ago he forgot when, but all he knows right now is there's just one thing that must be done.

he feels his pants grow tighter by the minute, the flickering light bulb casts a darker shade of monochrome gray on the crotch part. the navy haired doesn't delay any further and proceeds to get it done. blade unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting the item crash against the concrete flooring; followed suit is an act of self pleasure, he gradually wraps his dominant around his throbbing girth, reveling the wamrth he had to offer to himself in dead silence.

the stellaron hunter may not show it but gratification already courses through his system. at a slow pace, he continues to lean more towards your figure, his cock now at its full glory. its head twitches, itching for a sensation for it to be enveloped in; something warm, something tight and something alive. three qualifications that his mere hands could not satisfy.

perhaps that was your sole purpose for you being brought here in the stellaron hunters' temporary hideout. he rips your clothes with one clean cut from the cracked sword he brandishes, one of the many ways he showcases his astonishing swordsmanship. steadily positioning himself from your slit, a hot, rock hard feeling rubs on your lower lips.

blade's heart begins to pulsate against his rib cage, each beat becoming louder and faster in such an irregular manner. the more he got to feel your slippery cunt, the more eager he only got. and with one powerful thrust, he successfully makes his entrance inside you, his cock lavishing the comfort of your velvet walls clamping around his length.

he huffs a deep breath and only realizes it late as he catches a quick whiff of your scent— for some reason, he was drawn on. the male inches forward your neck, his hands tightly clasped on yours to make sure there would be no attempt of escape. presently atop you while you laid on your stomach, you could feel some faint but added pressure on your limbs plus a somewhat familiar presence from above.

blade was only detached from what you were feeling and only carried on with his own intentions. he rams inside you with no forewarnings, his tip fills you all the way up to the very brim. a breathy, whiny moan erupts in the vicinity that undoubtedly came from you but he heeds no mind to it— continuing to pound into your walls, intruding with such an abrupt pace and not in gradual motions.

in anything that he does, he emanates of destruction. a polar opposite of care, tenderness and love; it shows in his rough, vertiginious thrusts, his firm tight touch, and lastly, in his facial expression. you were not one bit shocked, if anything, you just accepted what is happening as of the present. being used as a cocksleeve for a passing feeling, it rips at your heartstrings but you were powerless before him.

you continued to pretend as if you were still dozing off in spite the mewl that you tried so hard to bite back, stifling more noises threatening to slip out. it would be far more awkward if you're awake as you weren't one bit acquainted with blade. not even shared glances, all the information you have is an overheard conversation from the hunters, only knowing his sole name : blade.

the swordsman eventually begins to drop his guard down, becoming more lax at letting his guttural groans come undone from his mouth. his bandaged hand wanders on your naked, exposed skin, traveling to places where he finds the most appealing. aside from the sound of skin slapping, clothes shifting and his jagged breathing were accompanied by the chime of his dangling scarlet earring.

a sharp pang of pain follows from a loud smack sound. it was his slender hand coming into harsh contact against the plush of your ass, leaving darker imprints from your complexion - it was no doubt, his spanking's seal. you could no longer play pretend as you wince from the pain, your eyes shot open and you turn your head.

your vision was then graced by the indigo haired, he took notice that you were awoken but as usual, he's cold as a gelid ice. he did not care.

when suddenly, he withdraws his cock from your pussy and flips your body around— thus making you meet his face, catching you off guard from your current dazed state. you slowly look up to meet his sharp gaze to the point that you could see your own image from his vivid cerise eyes. your very first locked gaze with blade, and mayhaps the last. his hand clasps on yours once again but only to bring it down to your cunt, he proceeds to uncurl your balled up fist.

he guides your fingers to stroke and pleasure yourself, your own digits prodding through your wet entrance. your breathing quickens, a foreign sensation brewing in the pits of your abdomen; meanwhile blade doesn't do anything but to watch on your expressions. "continue." blade commands ; his raspy, deep voice resounds into your ears.

you were struck with both of shock and nervousness, his tone laced with authority and coldness to it yet again. as embarrassing as it is to do it in front of a man you've never met in your lifetime, you obey his order, continuing to pump your fingers in and out of your coiling walls before his predatory naked eyes.

the navy haired pleasures himself at present, along with you - matching your rhythm. your legs spread open in front of him to feast upon that no man has ever tasted, an unfamiliar sensation wells in his heart. he groans and picks up the pace of him stroking his own erection, a feeling of release immediately dawning upon him.

with blurry vision, for a moment, you could see a hint of sadness and regret behind the vermillion windows of his soul. although the actions he's committing currently are lascivious and of lust, you swear to yourself there was something more than what meets the eye.

as quickly time flashes, strings of muddy white spring out from his cock, the liquids spilling into your exposed tits and your panic stricken face. he catches his breath in the midst of it, heavy panting echoes inside the enclosed vicinity. "i didn't order you to stop."

his words pierces your perturbed mind, he pertains to your masturbation ending just as when he reached his climax. the male swiftly gathers all the cum littering your skin with one hand and one movement, cupping the liquids carefully only to insert all of it into your pussy.

a moan bubbles from your throat, feeling his long fingers curl inside your sticky walls. blade, even though a stoic man most of the time, he's also full of surprises. he flicks his tongue over your clit, the pointy tip rubbing viscules and in circular motions on the specific spot.

your back arches, waves of pleasure crashing upon your lethargic self. blade doesn't halt and carries on to suck your walls out, margins of his sticky lips perfectly fitting with your lower ones. his tongue once again skillfully glides over your sensitive parts— earning him your climax as it spills out from your hole, adorning his sharp, masculine features as if your ejaculation was an accessory.

it felt ecstatic, as if your body drifts into the seventh heaven from blade's cold touches. in spite of the overwhelming gratification pooling in your body, hundreds of questions start to flare up in your mind, mainly about blade's identity. naturally, it rolls from your lips, a question he didn't see coming.

"what are you really?"

among the many blank faces blade shows you this night, he finally unravels a different one upon encountering your question. "are you really that fervent to know?" he rhetorically asks as a sneering smile creeps on his lips.

my masterlist !

[aventurineswife]

This is the anon so requested the sleep apnea reader! Can you also do one of where the reader sleepwalks instead? With the same people as the first request? You don’t have to write it if you don’t want to tho! I just thought it would be funny to be jump-scared by a sleepwalker.

Hsr characters after being scared by their partner: “oh they’re sleepwalking false alarm”

Reader: *sleepwalks to the stairs*

Hsr characters: shit.

Endless Reverie

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Blade x Reader, Established Relationship, Sleepwalking Shenanigans, Humor, Relationship Dynamics, Cute and Comedic Moments.

Warnings: Sleepwalking, Jump-scares, Light-hearted humor, Mild danger (reader sleepwalking near stairs).

The quiet hum of the Astral Express settled into a soothing lullaby as Sunday retired to his quarters. The Halovian sat in thought, eyes lost in contemplation as he reflected on the day’s events. His ever-present halo cast a faint glow, painting soft shadows on the walls.

A knock startled him from his reverie. He turned to see you—his partner—standing at the doorway, expression blank.

“Darling?” he called softly, rising to approach. You said nothing, your steps unnervingly stiff. Something felt… off. Sunday tilted his head, his wings twitching faintly in curiosity and unease.

“You’re—” His voice trailed off as you turned suddenly and began walking toward the staircase leading to the lower deck. Sunday’s calm demeanor cracked, his voice sharp now.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Still, you didn’t respond. You stepped closer to the stairs, and Sunday’s heart dropped. He closed the distance in a flash, catching you by the arm just as your foot hovered over empty air.

“By the stars—!” He held you tightly, his golden halo trembling slightly as he adjusted to support your weight. It was then he noticed your closed eyes and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

“You’re… asleep?” His voice softened with realization.

Carefully, Sunday maneuvered you away from the stairs, his chest still pounding from the scare. His wings fluttered slightly, betraying the nerves he hid behind a composed expression. Guiding you back to your shared quarters, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

“You nearly sent me to an early grave, love,” he murmured, tucking you back into bed with a tenderness that matched his relief.

When you awoke the next morning, oblivious to the ordeal, Sunday only shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Aventurine lounged in the opulent suite he'd rented, a glass of fine whiskey in hand and a victorious smirk on his face after a day of navigating high-stakes negotiations. His eyes glimmered in the low light, tracing the patterned design etched into the wall.

Then he heard it—a creak of the floorboards.

“Love? That you?” he called out, expecting a playful reply. Instead, you emerged from the hallway, your gaze unfocused and movements eerily mechanical.

“Hah! What’s this, a midnight prank?” Aventurine teased, his grin faltering as you moved past him in silence. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as you approached the balcony door.

“Oi, oi, where are you going?” He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

You slid the door open, stepping dangerously close to the edge of the railing. Aventurine’s heart leaped into his throat.

“Sweetheart, stop!” His voice cracked as he sprinted to pull you back just as you reached for the air beyond.

Realization dawned as he caught sight of your closed eyes and peaceful expression. He let out a shaky laugh, adrenaline still coursing through him.

“You’re sleepwalking? Of course you are,” he muttered, shaking his head as he guided you back inside. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, you know.”

The next morning, Aventurine regaled you with the story over breakfast, his grin back in full force. “You’re lucky I’m quick on my feet, darling. Or I’d be down one reckless partner.”

Blade sat in his quarters, meticulously polishing the cracked edge of his sword. The room was silent except for the rhythmic scrape of stone against metal. The Stellaron Hunter rarely rested, but tonight, the quiet seemed to offer a rare moment of calm.

The door creaked open. Blade’s eyes flicked up, narrowing when he saw you. Your expression was blank, and your steps were unnaturally slow.

“What are you doing up?” His voice was low, laced with mild irritation.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned and walked toward the stairwell leading to the lower levels of the ship. Blade’s irritation evaporated, replaced by an ominous sense of urgency.

“Stop.” His voice was sharp, but you didn’t falter.

Blade was on his feet in an instant, moving faster than the eye could follow. He caught you just as you stepped onto the edge of the top stair, his strong arms encircling you.

He froze, staring at your peaceful, closed eyes.

“You’re… asleep?” His brow furrowed as he exhaled heavily.

Carefully, he lifted you into his arms and carried you back to bed, his movements as deliberate as his swordsmanship. He placed you down gently, his expression unreadable as he watched you settle into the blankets.

“You scare me more than any battle,” he murmured under his breath before sitting back in his chair, keeping a watchful eye on you for the rest of the night.

[rigormortissa]

estoyloco

[akicine]

Hi hello I hope you're well I hope your requests are open if not please ignore this but can I ask blade with a lover from when he was yingxing who he lost a long time ago and they reunite and the spark is still there just some cute fluff and abit of angst

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I SWEAR TO GOD MY WIFI IS SO SHITTY , EVERYTIME I REFRESHED , IT DIDNT SAVEEE SO I HAD TO RESTART 4 TIMES.

The same , yet different (Blade x Reader)

You thought you’d never see him again.

After all these years , you’d never tried to dream that he would come back.

And yet, here he is , right in front of your eyes , looking at you with a cold stare , and talking to you with curt responses.

When you had first gotten a note , claiming that you could meet your lover once again , you thought it was just a scam , seeing that you haven’t met him in centuries and have long given up on the hope of seeing him again.

However that one small part of you , clung on to the hope that you would meet him again.

So when you arrived at the destination given , you thought you were hallucinating, seeing the stellaron hunter Kafka , and …

And-

Yingxing.

But then you realized , he wasn’t Yingxing.

He was blade.

Just like how you were questioning his existence and how he’s here , he was questioning his feelings about you.

He doesn’t know why , but whenever he thinks of you , he feels a soft pang in his heart , almost as if he was mourning the loss of something , but forgot what it was.

You know that face , you’ve seen it for the past couple of centuries , yet he was different from what he used to be.

Snow White hair , now a dark indigo , with ends as red as wine.

Those eyes that used to hold the pride and life of a blacksmith, now dead and holds the regrets and pain of centuries.

Even then , he’s still Yingxing to you.

Your lover , who had stayed with you for years , even when he was a short life species , you had loved him , cared for him when he got injured, and laughed with him.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally realized that he had come back to you .

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much , he doesn’t care to remember people from his past life , but whenever it comes to you , he feels the urge to gently wipe away your tears , as if it’s some familiar thing he always did , and comfort you.

With great ‘reluctance’ he gently pulls you into his arms and rubs your lower back , getting into a comforting rhythm as he tries to comfort you.

He presses his chapped lips together , trying to figure out a way to make you feel better , but then he hears a sound of pure joy and looks down to see you smile .

He hasn’t seen anything better than it.

He gently cups your face , something he hasn’t done in centuries , and tilts it up a bit more before smiling.

He hasn’t done that in centuries.

You gently grasp his hand , one that’s so familiar to you , and squeeze it , relishing the fact that he’s truly here with you.

He takes the time to slowly reacquaint himself with your features , memorizing your features , wishing that the Mara wouldn’t wipe his memory away.

He hasn’t felt the call of Mara once in this time span

He gently kisses your forehead .

He may not be Yingxing , but he’ll still love you like him.

[starrydragoness]

Pairing: Blade x Fem!Reader

Content: soft cockwarming, minors/ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: wrote this for a friend like last year, so may not be that good like my new writing. Hope you enjoy this regardless!

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ Mellow sighs of the wind washed over your bare back while your chest was kept warm, pressed up against his own. His bandaged hand had rubbed up and down your back countless times in the last hour or so that you two decided to use for a more intimate reprieve. This would be the first mission the two of you were sent on that was just the two of you, and having completed the main objective and the overall mission, the two of you found that you had quite some time left to indulge in more selfish desires.  It was that period of time where Blade was at the peak of pure exhaustion, barely standing atop his own feet as he rounded up the mission and concluded that the mission was over with and Elio's script was left empty until the next "play". You could see it in his eyes and the way his tone was like a rusted knife, yet none of its harshness was directed towards you.

Why would it? You are the only thing helping him live through this day, and the next, and the next after that. He had no way of thanking you for all of it, even if the reprieve of it all was always short lived. So he tries to remain in the moment of the current time, with you so warmly pressed up against him, his cock buried in your warm, welcoming cunt and his mind at an ease. He'd occasionally grind up against you, only to send a warm buzz of pleasure up both of you before going still again.

The static buzz of pain still remained in his mind but it was so distant and far away that he barely even took notice of it as he relished in the hands that brushed through his locks. His head was tilted back, neck supported by the cushions and pillows that made him feel warm for once. You have kissed his neck repeatedly over the span of the last hour, showering him in the soft and gentle kisses that he could drown in. His hand would cramp every now and then, causing his motions to halt and for him to wince - prompting you to ask each and every time whether he was okay. And he was, he told you that. His lashes fluttering open to greet you in the warmth they still managed to retain over the years of hell he survived in. Then after another moment he’d bring his hand up to your nape, bandaged fingers gently massaging before applying more pressure so you’d lean in closer, close until your lips could press softly against one another. The kiss lingers, and he repeats the motions languidly a few more times until he feels like your worries got quelled for the time being, and then his hand returns to your body, massaging your hip and sliding up and down your back in slow circles. 

And when you'd buck against him he'd make it a point to keep you still, wishing, needing to hear you whine and plead and scold him to let you move to chase your high.

It was only a matter of time until he lost his senses and pounded you into the mattress.

[k9wa]

𑣲 PREPARED. ft. BLADE

⠀ — he will not be overcome. blade prepared for this day

⠀ OR

⠀ — you’re only human and blade isn’t as ready for your death as he thought.

⚠︎ angst, some gore (?) character death, gn reader, this is kind of old

blade prepared for this day.

he reminded himself of all whom he’d seen fall in his years of existence with every breath he took.

blade prepared for this day.

the stellaron hunter had become well acquainted with his own immortality and the grief that without fail would follow him for all eternity.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew it was best to keep his distance from others, especially from humans. friendships or relationships of any kind were feeble and short-lived for a man like him. if you could even call him a man.

blade prepared for this day.

…so why was he speechless?

why had his breath betrayed him?

why did his legs grow weak, how was he brought to his knees with such ease, skin scraping harshly against the concrete beneath him?

blade prepared for this day… hadn’t he?

well, perhaps he’s slipped up a few times. but he was allowed that much, no?

maybe he shouldn’t have indulged you in so many stories of his travels, or the kinds of people he’d met along the way. but it was only because you were always so eager to hear about them, and the dejected look on your face when he’d say no was irritating.

and sure, he probably could have done without the gentle touches and almost domestic intimacy, but that couldn’t have done too big of a number on him. the emotions blade felt ranged from numb to violent, and had not stretched farther than the between for the last hundred years at least. a kiss to your cheek or your arms wrapped around him from behind couldn’t have really changed that.

no. it couldn’t have.

because blade prepared for this day.

he repeats it in his head like a mantra as he cradles you to his chest, your blood staining his bandaged and scarred hands as it drips to the stone floor. there's a sea of bodies surrounding you, a sign of blade’s inevitable victory alongside your inevitable demise.

all blade could do was watch as the spear pierced through your flesh and bones like they were butter, time almost slowing down as he bolted to your side as fast as he could once he noticed the pointed steel hurling towards you.

he was too late, only arriving in time to catch you as your knees buckled before you could tumble to the ground.

it was clean shot through your heart and left lung, tip of the spear poking out of your chest and staring him menacingly in the eye.

blade prepared for this day.

he knew you would not survive.

humans were fragile. a piercing shot through some vital organs was more than enough to take your life.

he pulled it out as quickly as he realised the tragic truth, hoping to make you more comfortable. he whispers small, rushed apologies into your ear as you cry out from the steel ripping through you again, this time the opposite way.

ren fought to keep his hands steady as he held you tightly against him. he would not panic in your final hours, he would not be an addition to the turmoil of your unfair death.

blade prepared for this day.

he sucks down the urge to scream out and curse the aeons for doing this to him again. he swallows the desire to pierce himself with the very weapon that would take you from him as punishment to himself for thinking this time will be different.

a calloused hand is held to your cheek as your body clings to its life, small choked gasps leaving your lips as if your lungs could even hold the air.

ren rests his forehead against yours, swirls of tangerine and crimson and pale skin shining through your cloudy vision. your efforts to speak are in vain, he just shushes you quietly.

“just look at me.” his voice is quiet, eerily calm and surprisingly comforting.

his thumb rubs small circles on your cheek, he can feel the puddle of blood on his pants growing. you comply, gazing up into his hardened eyes as you swear you see grief shining behind them. perhaps it's just the blood loss.

“you’re okay.” ren’s voice is like silk, despite its natural rasp. he tries to will himself to crack the slightest of smiles for your comfort. he cannot.

blade prepared for this day.

your hand shakily raised up to try and hold his, and all you can do is weakly grab onto his wrist. yet you’re smiling. you turn your head slightly to the left and kiss his palm, and blade does not see fear nor anguish in your eyes. he sees a sea of peace, two lakes of adoration staring back at him.

“you’re okay.” he repeats, lips meeting your forehead softly. “i’ve got you.”

it proves harder and harder to keep his hands steady as your eyes grow heavier, fluttering shut. he pulls you closer to him, squeezing his own eyes shut as if just seeing your face was pushing him over the edge.

blade prepared for this day.

he can feel your breaths shortening, becoming more shallow. he sucks in a breath.

blade prepared for this day.

“i’ll find you.” he wouldn’t. the place your mind and soul would travel to was the only place in the galaxy he traversed across that he could not reach despite his endless and verying attempts. whether the empty pledge is a futile attempt at a comfort to you or him will remain unknown.

blade prepared for this day.

whether the words reached you or not also remains up in the air. ren watches as your chest stops attempting to rise. if you were anyone else, he would be jealous.

blade thought he prepared for this day.

but realistically, nothing could ever truly prepare him again and again for the feeling he knew all too well; loss.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[reiykaa]

tonight

[sviteer]

Blade Swan

[aventurineswife]

Can you do one about how other characters like blade, Boothill, and the other members of the astral express would interact with eldritch creator

help, ruler of my heart started playing 😭🙏

Oh, now this is an interesting angle. We’ve explored the philosophical horror and devotion, but now it’s time to see how different characters would react when faced with something that shouldn’t exist, something beyond their comprehension.

Blade has already been through hell—body shattered, soul cursed with immortality, mind teetering on the edge of dissolution. In many ways, he’s already experienced a level of existential horror that others can’t fathom.

So, when he encounters the Avatar of the Creator, when he feels their presence, he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t question. He simply… accepts.

The others expect some kind of reaction, some visible break in his psyche. But Blade only gazes at the Avatar with an unreadable expression. Maybe he kneels—not in worship, not in fear, but in understanding. He has spent so long seeking death, seeking release, and yet, in the presence of something so vast, he realizes—his suffering was never significant in the first place. He is merely a ripple in an ocean that stretches beyond all understanding.

Does that make him bitter? Resentful? Or does he find peace in it? Maybe, for the first time, he stops fighting against his fate. Because what is fate to a being like the Creator? What is his suffering to something that has seen the birth and death of a thousand universes?

And yet… something unsettles him. There is something familiar about the Creator. Something forgotten. Has he seen them before? Have they seen him before?

Boothill is a man who deals in duels, in power, in who’s faster on the draw. Everything in his world can be settled with a well-placed shot and the right amount of confidence.

But when he encounters the Creator’s Avatar, when he sees something that doesn’t react to him the way all his enemies do, he hates it.

He tries to size them up, like he does everyone. But there’s nothing to read. No fear. No arrogance. No weakness. It’s the first time in his life that he feels like a mere insect standing before a god.

And Boothill? He doesn’t take that well. Maybe, in a mix of bravado and sheer existential dread, he pulls his gun on the Avatar. Shoots them, again and again, refusing to accept what he’s seeing.

But the bullets? They never land. Maybe they vanish before impact. Maybe they bend midair, defying all known laws of physics. Maybe they pass right through, as if the Avatar isn’t truly here in the way everything else is.

And Boothill? He just stares, sweat dripping down his face. Because he’s finally met an opponent he can’t kill.

That thought alone haunts him for a long, long time.

March is curious, but she’s also human. And humans? They fear what they can’t understand.

At first, she tries to treat the Avatar like any other person—she’s friendly, maybe even cracks a joke. But the moment she looks into their eyes (if they have eyes), she knows something is wrong. Something is off.

March, with all her enthusiasm, suddenly finds herself terrified in a way she’s never been before. The Creator isn’t threatening her. They aren’t doing anything. And yet, every instinct in her body is screaming at her to run.

But she doesn’t. She can’t. Because deep down, she knows—they’ve already seen her. They saw her before she ever existed. They know the memories she’s lost. They know the truth she so desperately wants to uncover.

And the worst part? They won’t tell her.

She doesn’t know if it’s because they can’t or because they simply won’t, but the realization that the answers are right in front of her—and always have been—shatters something inside of her.

Welt is a man of logic, a man who has spent his entire life understanding the rules that govern reality. He has fought creatures from other dimensions, wielded Star Rail technology, and faced beings beyond human comprehension.

But the Creator? They are beyond even that.

Welt tries to rationalize them. To classify them. To find some frame of reference to understand what they are. But no matter how many theories he forms, no matter how many logical structures he builds, they all collapse in the face of the Creator’s existence.

There is no explanation. No pattern. No theory that can contain them.

And that terrifies him.

Because for the first time in his life, he’s encountered something that cannot be studied. Something that simply is.

And worse? He has the sinking suspicion that the Creator understands him far better than he will ever understand them.

Himeko has spent her life chasing mysteries, embracing the unknown with a gambler’s smile. She has faced danger head-on, always moving forward, always trusting in the journey.

But when she meets the Avatar of the Creator, she hesitates.

Not because she’s afraid. But because, for the first time, she’s looking at something that doesn’t belong on the path. Something that doesn’t move forward or backward, because it simply exists outside of it all.

And that terrifies her more than anything.

Does she still go forward? Does she still bet on the unknown? Or does she, for the first time, feel the urge to turn back?

There’s an unspoken agreement among the Astral Express members after their encounter with the Creator.

They don’t talk about it. Not openly. Not in detail.

Because none of them saw the same thing.

To Welt, the Creator was an unknowable force. To March, they were the answer she could never reach. To Himeko, they were the first thing that made her hesitate.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

Because the Creator isn’t just one thing. They are everything.

And each of them walked away with a different piece of the truth—a piece that haunts them in ways they will never admit.

The Creator doesn’t have to lift a finger to break them—their existence alone does the job.

And that? That’s the true horror of it.

Doin Time started playing and it suits this au wtf?