#even against stronger foes

[circeyoru]

Love Trial = Requested

[Sung Jinwoo x High School Ex-Lover!Reader]

The Requests ― Part 1 (here) ― Part 2 — Part 3 ― Part 4 ― Part 5

Sung Jinwoo. The Hunter who was praised for his bravery and selflessness, the Hunter who was the embodiment of Cinderella, and the Hunter who was hailed as a hero no matter where he went and how he acted. All because he acted for the good of the people around him, be it former foes or strangers in another country, he protected all. He was humanity’s strongest shield and sword against the dangers of the monsters within the vile Gates.

Yet to you, his shining image was clouded with the shadows that surrounded him. In your memory of him, one stood out more than the rest, more than the good deeds he’s done, more than the joyous memories you made with him.

“I’m sorry. Let’s break up.”

His words pierced your heart and body like no other. The shield you held over your heart was long gone and the walls you built around you long crumbled, all because of the knight in front of you. You can’t say you didn’t expect it, you have and mentally prepared yourself, still… It hurts oh so much.

“I understand. I wish you happiness, Hunter Sung. May your days be nothing of smiles and content.”

And you turned and left to hide your tears. Even knowing that Jinwoo would one day leave you because he was stronger now and would have more and better choices, you craved—clung—to the fantasy that he wouldn’t leave you behind after everything that you’ve done for him. You drank till your body couldn’t handle and your bartender friend called in your reliable friend from back in your college days. You cried in his chest. Why? Why weren’t you a Hunter as well? You could have done more! More for your dearest lover! Maybe then, you wouldn’t be abandoned. 

That night was agonizing to live through. It was the worst day of your life. Perhaps, you were in love with the idea of love. You and Jinwoo did fall for the other over some silly comment and gossip from your classmates, then you started seeing the other differently. You two thought they were right and loved each other like actual lovers. How immature of you. Look what that led you?

It took some time, but you recovered with the help of your college friend. He helped more than you could ever thank him for. If he weren’t such a workaholic or that heated up then maybe your heart could have been swayed. Still, you knew for a fact; that you couldn’t—wouldn’t—be in another relationship any time soon.

When the world appeared to be coming to an end, you stared out your apartment window and sighed. Jinwoo must be saying his final farewells to his loved ones; his mother, his younger sister, that brother of a Hunter Jinho, and his new lover Cha Hae-In. It didn’t ache as much now than before when you thought about their official relationship and Jinwoo moving on so quickly while you took your time recovering. Now, you were fine with the time you had for yourself.

Your phone rang and you picked it up without a thought, a voice spoke from the other end. “World’s ending, thought I should check up on you.”

“How nice of you.” You chuckled from your end and retreated back into your apartment and away from the window, “Aren’t you busy with your guild affairs to call me?”

“I can still rest, can’t I? Here I was being nice and now I’m scolded.” You hummed, knowing the man from the other end heard it loud and clear. There was a pause before he continued, “Any regrets? Might as well say it since the world is ending.”

“Why should I tell you?” You meant it as a tease since you two have been close and shared a lot with each other. Way more that people could have confused you two as lovers at some point.

“Think of it as a goal for your next life. I wish we had our silly friendship and that there were no more beasts to fight off so I could work.”

You remained silent for a while. What would you wish for? What was your regret? You glanced over to a corner, you know it was because of the lighting that there was a shadow, but you couldn’t help but be reminded of a certain someone. Your lips moved while your eyes were glued to the shadow, speaking your mind, “I regret having let down my guard for him. I wish… I never met him.”

Whether it was the heavens taking pity on you or cursing you, you can’t tell. The moment you woke up, you were back home and alive. The only difference was that you have shrunk. No. That’s too light of a term. To be more specific, you have turned back to a child. It made no sense whatsoever that it was a dream. A dream too realistic since you could feel the clothes covering your body and the wind against your skin, even smell the familiar cooking of your parents. Not to mention, eat it!

You accepted it as reality when a week passed and nothing changed. You figured that you were reliving your life due to regrets. Or maybe a lot of people had regrets so everyone is reliving their lives right now. Yet you were the only one who seemed to have remembered anything about Hunters and Gates. Well, the moment you realized that, you shut up and said it was all a dream to anyone you asked, a child’s fantasy is wild after all, so none was the wiser. 

First things first, though, you had to avoid being in the same high school as Jinwoo. Easy enough as you had another school that was much closer to your apartment now. It was so easy for you to change your future since you were the only one that know what would happen. Cha Hae-In is Jinwoo’s fated lover, so at some point, they’d meet each other and fall in love. No surprise, but you want to be away from that drama.

“Dear! Can you get the door for me?” Your mother’s shout brought you out of your musical trance.

“Yes, mom!” You placed your violin down and hopped onto the couch. Your footsteps pitter-patter through the floor. You reached the door and opened it, knowing the metal fence as the outer door was closed to protect you in case of an attempt at breaking and entering. “Who is it—?!”

The bright red hair and the matching red eyes, you recognize them anywhere. The boy in front of his parents smiled with his head bowed to give his greetings. “Hello! I’m Choi Jong-In, your new neighbour. I’ll be studying at XXXX Middle School if you want,” His closed-eyes smile softened as his eyelids opened again to meet your shocked gaze. “We can walk to school together.”

Words seemed to have been sucked out of your mouth as you stared at the boy. Your parents had come to the door and welcomed the boy inside while you were still in a daze. In the past, you had never met Jong-In this early; you met him when you two were in college and Jinwoo in high school. Perhaps because you avoided meeting Jinwoo, now you met Jong-In. Well, you can’t complain. It was a good change.

“What a coincidence! We go to the same school.” You smiled back and introduced yourself. He repeated your name, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you. And so started your friendship with your former best friend from your past life.

.

. 

.

As time passed, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. There were no such things as Gates or Hunters or even mana. Everything was just perfectly normal, just as you pleased. You momentarily looked up from your phone at the cluster of people before you stared up into the sky. Your eyes widened as you caught sight of what appeared to be a Gate in the sky. Even after a few moments, nothing happened, and no Hunters were awakened. You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

You passed by an ice cream shop and wondered if you should grab a cup of ice cream while waiting for your friends. Your attention was taken away when your phone buzzed and you looked down once more to see what the notification was about. Ah, your friend’s here.

You walked away from the shop and entered the crowd, entirely missing the boy who rushed out of his seat from the window table and tried to catch you. You heard your name being called out, and you went in that direction, finding the redhead waving his hands in your direction. You chuckled and went over to him. “Hey.”

“Hey to you too, let’s get out of here. It’s so crowded.” Jong-In placed his arm around your shoulders and led you away from the crowd. 

When you look back up at the sky, nothing happens, and the crowd starts to disperse. As you and Jong-In chatted up a storm, ignoring the chatter around you two, you also didn’t notice how the boy had stared at you longingly with guilt and envy in his eyes while the shadows around him twisted and swirled, reflecting his conflicting emotions. 

.

.

.

“Have you heard? That running star, Sung Jinwoo, is going to this college too!”

“I heard! I also heard he’s still single too!”

“You think I got a chance with him?”

“No way. I heard he’s a heartbreaker! Even Cha Hae-In’s no match for him.”

“Aw… That’s crazy.”

You stood up and moved to another seating area with a deadpan emotion. After finding a good seat, you sat down and returned to whatever you were doing on your phone. Up until now, you had been able to predict what happened since that was the point in time that Jinwoo went to become a Hunter. Basically, since high school, you were on your own. You managed just fine because the moment you weren’t in the same school as Jinwoo, it was the same as you never having to meet each other. Even better as it saved you from heartache and unnecessary emotions.

Still. You were beyond confused as to why Jinwoo wasn’t together with Cha Hae-In when they were so lovey-dovey in your previous life. There’s no way you heard it right. Gossip is just that, gossip. It’s never true, and even if some parts are, the majority of them are twisted to match whatever the listener and speaker want to hear or know. 

The students in the lecture hall suddenly squealed as they all whispered about the newest student who came in. You glanced up and huffed with a smirk, watching with a teasing look at Jong-In, who was called by men and ladies alike. He was popular, after all. He came to your seat and gave you that gentlemanly smile, “Come on, you free to go now?”

“Geez, not sure. I feel like sitting a bit longer.” You taunted shamelessly.

You watched as his eye twitched and his smile widened dangerously. “Don’t be such a tease. You know we’ll be late for lunch.”

“Lunch is a whole few hours long; we can afford to be late for a few… say… 30 minutes or so?”

At your words, Jong-In immediately started packing your belongings for you, strapping your bag over his shoulders, then pulling you out of your seat and dragging you out of the hall. People all cooed in your direction, some even whistled. 

You let him do so until you two were in a more secluded hallway when you spoke up. “You know I was just teasing. Who told you to be so popular?”

“And here I thought having you around me would ward off people…” Jong-In sighed, finally letting you go of your hand. “Sorry for being rough.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrugged and took back your bag. “So, the confessions are still sky high?”

“Not sky high, but still a number of them.” Jong-In fixed his glasses, raking his hair with his fingers, “Seriously, I just want to focus on my studies and get started on my work!”

You and Jong-In have been close and the best of friends, in the past and current life. In both lives, he was basically married to work, or study at the moment. Jong-In had no want for romance, and you avoided the whole romance thing, so both of you came to the agreement of being a fake couple to ward off other people. Since you two were close enough to do what couples do without feeling romantically attracted to the other, well, nothing like kissing but hand-holding and hugging was acceptable.

Jong-In looked over to you, who was still very much unaffected and chill about everything. The winds seemed to pick up when his words escaped his lips. “What will you do if Sung Jinwoo finds you when I’m not around?”

Your eyes darted to his before you blinked and looked out the window, “I doubt it. Let’s just say I have a strong feeling that he’s making a mistake if he does come to me.” You smiled at Jong-In while your eyes seemed devoid of light. “I’ll just direct him to the right one.” You blinked and, like a switch, returned to normal. “Why the sudden question?”

A finger of his pointed behind you, “Because he’s coming in this direction and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Note: First part out! This request has been sitting in my inbox for a while, sorry it took so long. As you could tell, I had other stories and stuff to do. But it's out! Thoughts, everyone?

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

[inthevoidzone]

Hey so I really love how Davrin's vallaslin is handled in Veilguard and how it ties into not only his arc, but his internal conflict between two halves and the choice at the end of his character quest.

First of all, I'm gonna say god/Creator rather than Evanuris for this post because I'm not talking about the actual historical elves with all the associated baggage and atrocities, but the maybe-false but still culturally meaningful constructs the Dalish created out of ancient half-remembered history to be their gods. In reality and even most fantasy, Gods aren't literally real, but are always meaningful. In universe, vallaslin are unique. In opposition to the default set that a player character gets to choose between and is also applied to generic NPCs, Dalish characters with bespoke facemorphs have unique vallaslin designs. Identifiying a particular Dalish elf's vallaslin in-universe isn't so much checking a chart for an exact match as it is studying the design elements and recognizing the symbology of a given Creator. Elgar'nan is represented by a play of light and darkness. Mythal by the boughs of a great tree. Falon'din by a design that is "as above, so below." And Andruil and Ghilan'nain are represented by a bow and horns respectively, as the hunter and the mother of halla. Writers have confirmed that Bellara and Cyrian's vallaslin honour Dirthamen, god of secrets, mysteries, and lore. And of course they did! It's pretty obvious where these two truth-seekers would be aligned. But the same writers were cagey about answering who Davrin's tattoos represent, and I think this is on purpose, because Davrin's vallaslin are meant to be ambiguous.

Assume they're for Andruil, the hunter who loved testing herself against stronger and stronger foes, who was revered by the Dalish as a warrior and a protector and who could never bear to remain at home. You can see the curve of the bow, the point of the arrow. Now, assume they're for Ghilan'nain, the nurturing creative spirit who created the gentle halla and then cared for them as if they were her own children. Now you see the delicate lines curving up into the shape of horns, crowned by a second set at the top.

(Davrin's mentor, Eldrin, wearing Ghilan'nain's vallaslin, alongside a render of the player character's options for Andruil's Vallaslin.)

You see where I'm going, right? This is Davrin's character arc! His internal conflict! The brave and fearless warrior ready to throw himself into the arms of death vs the caring and soft-hearted surrogate father to a magical creature. The young man who couldn't bear to stay with his clan vs the boy who sang to the halla. And the choice he and Rook make together at the end of his quest, where Davrin's conflict is reflected onto Assan and the other griffons. Brave fighter or nurturing caretaker? The hunter or the shepherd? Schrodinger's vallaslin. Devs won't clarify which it's intended to be because it's intended to be both.

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑪: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

Troy Saga ❛  do what i say and you'll see them again.  ❜ ❛  what do you live for? what do you try for?  ❜ ❛  say no more, i know tat i'm ready.  ❜ ❛  the blood on your hands is something you won't lose.  ❜ ❛  is the price i pay endless pain?  ❜ ❛  something feels off here, i see fire but there's no smoke.  ❜ ❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ ❛  why should we take when we could give?  ❜ ❛  i see in your face, there's so much guilt inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  have you forgotten the lessons i taught you?  ❜

The Cyclops Saga ❛  it's almost too perfect, too god to be true.  ❜ ❛  what gives you the right to deal a pain so deep?  ❜ ❛  your life now is in my hand.  ❜ ❛  remember them, we're the ones who carry on.  ❜ ❛  what good would killing do when mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use?  ❜ ❛  i am your darkest moment.  ❜ ❛  i don't know where i went wrong but i warned ya', and you failed the test.  ❜ ❛  that's just like you, why should i be surprised?  ❜ ❛  unlike you, every time someone dies i'm left to deal with the strain.  ❜ ❛  i'll remind you i saw you as a friend but now we're done.  ❜

The Ocean Saga ❛  at this rate, we won't make it out alive.  ❜ ❛  please don't tell me you're about to do what i think you'll do.  ❜ ❛  yes, but how much longer til your luck runs out?  ❜ ❛  you rely on wit, and people die on it.  ❜ ❛  you're like the brother i could never do without.  ❜ ❛  and suddenly you doubt that i could figure this out?  ❜ ❛  keep your friends close and your enemies closer, never really know who you can trust.  ❜ ❛  'cause the end always justifies the means.  ❜ ❛  do you know who i am?  ❜ ❛  you are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great.  ❜

The Circe Saga ❛  whatever you need to say can wait some more.  ❜ ❛  there's no length i wouldn't go if it was you i had to save.  ❜ ❛  wouldn't you like a taste of the power?  ❜ ❛  don't thank me friend, you very well may die.  ❜ ❛  did you do something to them?  ❜ ❛  if you make one wrong move, then you're done for.  ❜ ❛  you and i are now evenly matched.  ❜ ❛  you've given me no reason to bestow you with my trust.  ❜ ❛  who's to say, with the mistakes i've made that they will be the last mistakes i ever make?  ❜ ❛  this is the price we pay to love.  ❜

The Underworld Saga ❛  all i hear are screams, every time i dare to close my eyes.  ❜ ❛  i no longer dream, only nigtmares of those who've died.  ❜ ❛  when does a man become a monster?  ❜ ❛  now you tell us our effort's are for nothing?  ❜ ❛  how has everything been turned against us?  ❜ ❛  do i need to change?  ❜ ❛  i'm the only one whose line i haven't crossed.  ❜ ❛  what if i'm the problem that's been hiding all along?  ❜ ❛  what if i've been far too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves?  ❜ ❛  if i became the monster and threw that guilt away would that make us stronger?  ❜

The Thunder Saga ❛  you wouldn't have spared me. i made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life.  ❜ ❛  i've got a secret i can no longer keep.  ❜ ❛  you know that we are the same.  ❜ ❛  we must do what it takes to survive.  ❜ ❛  tell me you did not know that would happen.  ❜ ❛  if you want all the power, you must carry all the blame.  ❜ ❛  how are we supposed to trust you now?  ❜ ❛  how much longer must i suffer now?  ❜ ❛  someone's gotta die today and you have got the final say.  ❜ ❛  please don't make me do this.  ❜

The Wisdom Saga ❛  you've made your worst mistake here.  ❜ ❛  this cruel world doesn't give out presents just for being good.  ❜ ❛  you're my friend, i couldn't ask for more.  ❜ ❛  did you know you talk in your sleep?  ❜ ❛  i'm what you want here, i'm what you need here.  ❜ ❛  you don't know what i've gone through.  ❜ ❛  i know your life's been hard, i'll stay inside your heart.  ❜ ❛  life would be so much worse if you had died.  ❜ ❛  you dare to defy me, to make me feel shame?  ❜ ❛  no one beats me, no one wins my game.  ❜

[varpusvaras]

More All-Caste/Magic user Jason because I can't stop thinking about him.

Ya'll know for a fact that he isn't telling anyone about it. He knows very well what Batman thinks of metas and magic in Gotham, and he's already in too much trouble with him, so he just doesn't say anything. And besides, it is not their business, anyway.

But magic just does. not. stay. out. of. Gotham. And most of the time it's the type of thing that they would need Jason to deal with it, anyway, or Bruce would have to call for Zatanna or worse yet, Constantine, to deal with it instead, and Jason is sure that if either of them even looks at his general direction they are going to know. Zatanna might keep her mouth shut, but Constantine? Absolutely not.

So every time Jason gets even a sniff of something magical going on, he is on it instantly. There. Problem solved, and no one is the wiser. Everything is good.

Except. When someone deals with magic that quickly and that efficiently, it also creates a pattern. All things that are magical are starting to figure out that something is going on in Gotham. Whatever or whoever goes there never lasts for longer than a day. It's a curiosity, a mystery, and many beings want to solve it.

So now there is Gotham and Jason, and they have a reputation. And things just. keep. coming. And now they are seeking out whatever it is that deals with magic in Gotham on purpose, and Jason is getting really fed up.

Then he goes against a stronger foe, and calls up the All-Blades, and everything really goes up in flames after that. Because now the rumors are going even harder. That there is an All-Caste in Gotham. An All-Caste? Aren't they all wiped out? Apparently not. They gotta see it now for themselves.

So it is all going splendidly, one might say. Jason is not the one saying so.

But. Rumors are...finnicky. Especially when it comes to Gotham and its residents. And especially when it comes to the powers at play there. The city is guarded by the Bat. The man who trained with the League of Assassins, the man who has gone against enemies with earth-shattering powers and won. The Dark Knight himself.

So that has to be him. The Heir to the All-Caste.

So now every other week there's some Magic User coming to challenge the Protector of Gotham. And the Batman keeps beating them without ever using the All-Blades. This is shattering so many egos of so many Magic Users. They weren't even worthy of seeing the Blades! That's the most devastating part.

And Bruce is sitting in the Cave and trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Why are all of these people coming in all of a sudden, wanting to fight him? What did he do? He doesn't remember going against someone noteworthy in quite some time. There has to be something, and he can't put his finger on it and it frustrates him.

All the kids are throwing every kinda theory at him, except Jason, who is standing in the background, hoping that if he justs. stays completely still. they can't see him.

[inkcrowsnest]

Lucky Charm

You didn’t always consider yourself a lucky charm. In the beginning of your travels with the Destined One / Sun Wukong, you often found yourself in trouble. Small little misfortunes happen to you on a daily basis. A yaoguai chasing after you, falling into a stream, getting your clothes caught in tree branches. It wasn’t easy adjusting to this strange new land. It was so different from what you knew. 

But little by little, everything seemed to get better. A small observation here, a causal comment there, and the fight always ends with Sun Wukong / Destined One emerging victorious. And even they start to notice that the fights seem easier and he’s not getting as injured as before.

Destined One

[-] Before any fight, he always makes sure you’re safe. It becomes second nature for you to let yourself be picked up and placed on the highest tree branch. Out of harm, but still able to watch and see in case he needs help. 

[-] But regardless if you’re up high on a tree or just watching on the sidelines, DO will always look into your eyes and press his forehead against yours before heading off.

[-] It’s his way of promising you that everything will be alright and that he’ll be back. Since then, it’s become a little ritual between the two. 

[-] Even when his opponents get stronger and stronger, he always manages to win. But the one time he didn’t gaze at your lovely eyes and nuzzle your cheek, he was hit by countless arrows.

[-] If he didn’t believe in you being his lucky charm, he sure does now. Immediately after recovering he goes to you and pulls you into a hug.

[-] It’s not only in fighting that you bring him good luck. When he’s out with you, DO always finds the best items. Be it armor or weapons, you always seem to find them.

[-] The Destined One rightly assumes that the longer he stays clinging on to you the better his luck will be. So fully expect him to have you trapped in a hug.

Sun Wukong

[-] It starts off as teasing. 

[-] Wukong when laying his head on your lap would insist on having you groom his fur. He’s a king after all and he can’t be looking all rough. Nuzzling into your hand, he’ll grab your wrist and press his lips against your palm.

[-] It’s at that moment that a peach falls off the tree both of you were resting under. With a laugh, he’ll say how his sweet peach brought him a snack to eat. He’ll call you his lucky charm, but won’t think further about it.

[-] The next time he kisses you it’s on the cheek while he’s in the middle of a fight. Considering the foe too weak, he sent out a clone to deal with it. And enamored by your blush, both of you are surprised when the yaoguai trips and falls to their death.

[-] From then on, Wukong takes every opportunity to give you kisses. Be it on your hand, face, shoulder, or neck. He will find an opportunity to press his lips against your skin.

[-] Does he need luck. No, he’s the Great Sage Equal to Heaven after all. But if it lets him boast to everyone how he has his own personal lucky charm then he’s all for it.

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Five

For @erisweekofficial Day 5: War

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Since the moment he first tasted hatred, Eris Vanserra has harbored one relentless goal: to rid the world of his father. Now, the time has come to wage the war he's been preparing for his entire life—the war against his own blood.

Warnings: well... death, violence, cruelty, injury, mentions of animal abuse, animal death, mentions of child/spouse abuse. basically, we go into eris's mind as he kills beron.

Word Count: 5.1k

authors note: i'm not a huge fan of long fight scenes, so here is my spin on one. i thought it was important to show that wars are not only won on battlefields. this might be one of my most favorite writings.

Part Four | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris knew that war wasn’t just physical; it was mental, political, emotional. He was a curious child, indeed. A collector. He'd collected secrets, absorbed the hatred and indifference around him like an animal adapting to its environment.

It taught him every skill he held dear. 

Eris was skilled in combat, of course. He'd trained himself to be. He fantasized about killing his father with his own hands, dreamt of watching the life leave him, longed for the feeling of his father's power draining into his own veins. But he knew this war would, inevitably, be won another way.

He understood that true victory was achieved through subtler means. That with the right words, with the right plan, you could convince a foe to destroy himself before you ever laid a hand on him. 

Eris scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across his men. They were scattered, blending seamlessly among the guests, but each one met his eyes the moment they felt his attention. Subtle nods. A flicker of recognition in their eyes. They were ready—every one of them, waiting for his signal, prepared to do whatever was necessary. 

Without needing to turn his head, Eris could feel the weight of Rhysand’s gaze on him, the High Lord's presence nearly tangible, a suffocating pressure that seemed to reverberate in his mind. As much as Eris hated to acknowledge it, to feed into his inflated ego, Rhysand's power pulsed like an unseen echo.  His father feared it for good reason, hid his fear through disdain, through disgust.

 Eris had seen Tarquin in another far corner. He’d managed to sway the young High Lord, convincing him that his rule was inevitable, promising that he could prove himself where his Father had faltered. He'd seen something in Eris's eyes. And somehow, it had worked.

Spring was absent, as expected. Tamlin had yet to appear in any event, had yet to return to his proper existence. Eris knew he should feel some semblance of empathy, that he should feel for a fellow male wronged by the cards dealt, a male who made errors under the presumption of the greater good. But he didn't.

 Winter was also absent—Vivianne had blocked any chance of their participation, had convinced Kallias to flee in haste and not spare a moment for the princeling. Eris had anticipated this, of course, had known that Mor’s influence would weaken his alliances in certain courts.

He had worked with Helion, though it had taken time and effort to even secure a meeting. Eris attributed Helion’s openness to Rhysand’s ability to balance his hatred for Eris with his vision of a stronger, united Prythian. Even he was shrewd enough to recognize that. 

Now, Helion stood poised and ready, a few feet from Rhysand, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were searching for something specific, seeking for something he had yet to find. Dawn was unable to attend, but Thesan seemed more open to Eris's words, seemed willing to hear him out despite his presentation the last time he was in his court, his words during the High Lord meeting. 

It was enough.  

Because Eris wasn't relying solely on them.

His alliances were tools for strength and backup, sources of power he lacked himself—like the ability to cloud the minds of those who might intervene.  But other than that, Eris believed in his own abilities, believed in his rage even more.

The moment he had been preparing for his entire life had finally arrived. Every piece was moving exactly where he needed them to be.

Except for you.

Eris’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on you once more. You hadn’t moved since the dance, your eyes still locked on him. He should have known better. 

His heart pounded harder in his chest. 

He almost growled in frustration, willing you to leave. Begging you, silently, to turn away, to walk out of the room before things spiraled further. But you didn’t move. You stood there, defiant as ever, and he knew in his bones that you wouldn’t leave him—not tonight, not ever, maybe. It was a comfort and a curse all at once, and he hated himself for expecting you to be anything but exactly what you always were: stubborn, unshakable, and entirely unwilling to leave him at surface level.

Eris thought he would've convinced you to leave, that you would've left the ball and never looked back.

He wanted you to give up on him. 

Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. He needed you to give up on him. But the conversation of tonight had steered a different way, he'd felt a tug in chest, a longing to say something to you that you would hold onto. He wanted to make things right if this night didn't go as he had planned. Just in case. 

His hands clenched into fists, anger simmering under his skin. It wasn’t directed at you—no, it was at himself. For dragging you into this, for wanting you there even now when he should have been protecting you, not keeping you in the line of fire. His thoughts raced, but before he could find a way to fix this—to get you out of here—Beron's voice cut through the room.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening.” Beron’s voice carried a chilling glee as he addressed the assembly, his dull, dead gaze sweeping across the gathered guests. “Your presence here is both an honor and a testament to our shared interests.” 

Eris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

His father stepped down from his throne, his movements slower than usual, though not without their characteristic arrogance. With a subtle struggle masked by his usual flair, Beron flicked his wrist, summoning long banquet tables in a grand, sweeping motion.

Eris knew what to expect—the feast was an integral part of the Autumn Equinox ball, a hallmark of Beron’s gatherings and a grotesque display of excess. It wasn’t just about wealth; it was Beron’s way of reminding everyone of his power. The elaborate food and endless wine were symbols of his dominance, meant to impress, to intimidate. Everything served had its own twisted meaning, every bite meant to feed not only the stomachs of his guests but Beron’s insatiable ego.

“Let this night be remembered,” Beron said, a thin smile creeping over his lips, “For it is not just a feast, but a celebration—a dedication.”

His eyes finally settled on Eris. “To my eldest son, my heir," He drawled, his voice mocking. “So powerful, isn’t he? Could stand here—just like me.”

The room fell into a hushed confusion. From the corner of his eye, Eris noticed Rhysand and Feyre exchange a subtle glance. Then he took notice of the slightest of movements from his men and Beron’s guards alike, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords. 

“Why don’t you step forward? Take a seat." Beron’s grin sharpened as he gestured toward the throne looming behind him. "Tell me, is it warm enough for you?”

Eris didn't move. There was something in his father's eyes that unnerved him more than usual, something that prickled at his skin. Eris wanted to turn and look at you, wanted to find some feeling of comfort. He resisted the urge, resisted as he had for centuries. 

Even Eris’s brothers seemed to sense the sinister glint in Beron’s eyes, stepping aside from their usual positions, retreating from his throne and his shadow. Their movements were hesitant, almost apologetic, but they did not challenge Beron or attempt to shield Eris. Instead, they distanced themselves, as they often did.

Eris felt a sharp pang of betrayal. It was expected, of course, but it hurt him still. He had loved them, raised them, spent countless hours teaching them how to hold a sword, how to pet a hound— shared with them the fragments of compassion he had left. 

If Beron chose to make a move against him now, if he decided to execute him as he had done to others, as he had done to Lucien’s first love, Eris knew his brothers would not intervene. They would not rise to his defense. They would, instead, hold him down, their faces betraying no sign of conflict or hesitation. The years of affection and teaching he had given them would simply vanish, be replaced by a cold compliance that made them unrecognizable.

Eris didn’t loathe them for their cruelty. He understood their desire for acceptance, their need to survive in the oppressive shadow of their father. They weren’t as strong as he was—that was a fact Eris had long since accepted. But he did harbor a certain resentment, a bitterness reserved for those who shared his blood, for their spinelessness. It was a raw, bitter hatred born of disappointment, for they had succumbed to the very weakness he had fought to overcome.

Yet, deep down, Eris knew that hatred was unfair.  They weren't as strong as he was. They had found safety, a semblance of life, in aligning themselves with Beron, in becoming mere extensions of his will. They were each equally awful, equally numb, void of the personality and warmth that once marked their youth.

His heart ached when he reflected on it too long, when he looked at the males before him and saw only shadows of their younger selves—reminders of who they might have been before Beron had shaped them into tools of his power.

Beron’s lips twisted. “Seems like you’re stuck. Not enough energy? Don’t have the appetite?” His voice took on a mocking softness. With a sudden cruel smile, he motioned for the feast to be revealed. “Perhaps you need something to satiate you.”

Eris felt his stomach twist, but it didn't show on his face, didn't show in his stature. He’d perfected it over the years, that calm, amused mask. Yet beneath it, something churned—something he couldn’t name.

And then the reveal came.

With a nod of Beron's head, attendants moved swiftly to unveil the centerpiece of the feast.

The array of food was lavish, an impressive display of excess. But as the cover was lifted, a collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a collective step back. Eris’s hearing fuzzed, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of despair crashed over him.

There, displayed as if it were the grandest prize of the night, was one of his hounds. One of the first he had ever raised, ever loved. The animal stared back at him, its body bound, gagged with an apple.

Slain and displayed as a macabre trophy. 

The sight sent a shudder through the room, a sense of disgust even reaching the eyes of Beron's soldiers, of the males standing around the room. 

And clearly, like a piercing alarm in the dead of night, Eris could hear your voice—a sound of horror, of sadness—interwoven with his own, as if your emotions were etched into his own heartbeat. But now only anger consumed him. He saw red.

Beron wallowed in the shock, bathed in it like a pig in mud. 

“My dear son, so arrogant, so ready to take my place. I hear the chatter.” He gestured disdainfully toward the hound. “What a shame that your beloved playthings aren’t immune to the cost of defiance.”

Eris took a deep breath. 

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for this," Beron walked over to two of his guards. They presented him with two ornate swords. “How satisfying it must be to finally face your grand plan.”

He turned and threw a sword at Eris’s feet, the blade skidding across the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up,” Beron commanded. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, then do it properly. Give your court a show.”

Eris’s gaze followed the sword. While Eris knew he didn't need to fight to win, he wasn't going to miss out on a bit of fun, wasn't going to resist his chance to decorate himself in his father's blood before his plan came to fruition. He felt eerily calm, felt strangely numb, as he bent down to retrieve the weapon, feeling its weight settle into his hand.

The first time Beron had struck Eris with true malice, he had been no older than sixteen. Instead of the usual heavy hand, Beron had chosen a different method of discipline that day. 

He had targeted something deeper—something soft.

Eris was still young at the time, but old enough to have developed a bond with his hounds, creatures he had raised and trained with care. Only one of his brothers had been born at this time, too young to understand his affection for the animals, but Eris—Eris had always felt responsible, protective. He'd been the one to fight for them in the first place, had managed to summon the courage to convince his father they were useful, needed for the Court. 

It was a simple mistake during hunting, on a trip Beron had granted them all to take. Eris had let the hounds range too far ahead, and when one of them startled a stag too soon, Beron saw red. Instead of turning his fury on Eris immediately, he called for the hound.

Eris’s stomach had dropped when he saw his father’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching in that way that signaled violence was coming. But it wasn’t for Eris—yet.

Without hesitation, Beron grabbed the dog by the scruff and brought his hand down with a sickening crack across the hound’s side. The sound of bone snapping and the sharp yelp that followed was enough to freeze Eris in place, horror clawing at his chest.

“Your mistake,” Beron had snarled, glancing at Eris as the hound crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “It’s only fair it pays the price.”

Eris had wanted to run to the animal, to shield it, to beg his father to stop, but Beron’s gaze had pinned him in place. The message was clear: any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

“That’s the thing about care,” Beron continued, voice calm, detached. “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Never let them see.”

Eris's weakness wasn’t something entirely physical—it was the things he loved, the things he couldn’t afford to lose. He was sixteen and wanted to be great. He was sixteen and loved his family. But he knew, then and there, that Beron would never hesitate to use those things against him.

So Eris learned to mask it all, to bury the things he cared for deep beneath a layer of cold indifference. He learned to find the weaknesses in others and use them before they could be turned against him.

Find the thing that makes them vulnerable, Eris collected, and exploit it until they're weak. 

Beron’s vices had been his easiest prey— his pride, his paranoia. 

Beron was already acting out of fear, already on edge. He was quick to draw his sword, quick to make rash decisions. Who could blame him, Eris thought, after he’d come across those letters? He could still feel the seething anger, remember the way Beron’s face had twisted as he read those messages from his high-ranking officials, his allies.

They spoke of Beron’s incompetence, of their desire to betray him. It was so convenient how Eris’s brothers had intercepted those letters, so strangely timed that they ended up exactly where Beron would find them on that fateful night.

Beron had been so angry, so furious, that he hadn’t realized the writing in the letters carried Eris’s careful hand. The curve of the a’s, the dotting of the i’s. Eris hadn’t even fully attempted to hide it. It was a fun little game.

The first strike came fast, Beron’s sword flashing in the dim light as it clashed with Eris’s blade. The impact rattled up Eris’s arm, but he held steady, his face betraying nothing. His father advanced again, faster, more aggressive, but Eris met him blow for blow.

“You think you can stand against me?” Beron spat, swinging again. His strikes were wild, reckless, fueled by a rage that had long since burned out of control. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

Eris sidestepped the blow. “I think you’ve already lost it,” he said, parrying another strike. The blade sliced through a thin layer of skin on his father's arm, the fine fabric soaking up a pool of crimson. Beron’s lips curled in a snarl. The blows were becoming harder, less controlled. 

“Ungrateful whelp,” he hissed, “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done.”

“Done to me,” Eris corrected, as his blade deflected another attack. The steel met his father's skin once more. 

He could feel the fury rising, could see the cracks forming in Beron’s controlled facade. Every swing was growing sloppier. Eris bit back a grin. 

Beron’s face twisted with rage, his teeth bared. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games, whispering in the shadows.”

Eris didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on his father’s, unblinking, steady. “I learned from the best.”

As expected, Beron was desperate to prove his strength, his dominance. His face reddened, the veins in his neck bulging as he swung wildly. 

He kept his soldiers at bay, clearly wanting the court to witness him vanquish his son with his own hands, to send a powerful message. But as the fight wore on and Beron’s frustration mounted, Eris could see the flicker of temptation in his father’s eyes, the near impulse to call upon his troops.

Beron would be sorely surprised if he made the call. 

Eris briefly registered the movement of a few of his men, clad in his rich green colors, subtly inching closer to Beron’s soldiers. They didn’t advance to engage, no, but shared a knowing look with a few of the crimson-clad guards.

Before his brothers were born, Eris played often with his mother. She taught him countless games—strategy and thought alike. It was during those moments that Eris learned the most dangerous moves were the ones no one saw coming. He realized that the easiest games were often played with those unaware of the parts they were playing. At school, he could win every game if he hid just enough of the truth, allowing his tutors to think they knew the rules, when they didn’t know half of it.

Infiltration had been a long game. 

It had taken Eris years, centuries, to meticulously cultivate and train the right individuals. It was thanks to him, whether his father acknowledged it or not, that Beron's men were stronger than ever. His newest soldiers, only a couple hundred of years old, had risen swiftly in rank, filling positions of power precisely when Beron needed them most. They emerged just as Beron’s senior troops had fallen ill of a strange form of Autumn Fever. The healers had said it came with the weakened state of soldiers, that their bodies were too tired to fight off such potent infections. Their weakened state created an opportune void. 

The new recruits had seamlessly integrated, even believing themselves to be loyal supporters of Beron. Eris had been careful with them, had played the part of a helpful heir. They were eager for power, viewing their positions as a win-win—high-ranking regardless of whatever outcome. Eris had demonstrated his own worth, had shown his influence by granting them such positions. Without even trying, he'd earned their loyalty, ensured they had no reason to doubt him. 

They remained loyal to their benefactor. 

After all, everyone wanted to feel like they'd be on the winning side. 

The clashing of steel and the cries of combat filled the room. Eris felt the sting of a fresh wound on his side, a searing pain that only seemed to heighten his sense of power. He fought through the pain.

In the chaos, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—he hoped, with a fervent intensity, that you weren’t watching. That you had found a place to hide, tucked away safely from the brutality of the scene. The notion that you might be witnessing this carnage, seeing him in his raw, bloody glory, gnawed at him. 

He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford distractions now.

There was a time and a place for them. Because sometimes, distractions— disruptions— were useful. They could turn tides. 

The mercenaries were easy to hire. 

They didn't ask questions, didn't question the gold they were handed. Eris truly believed, deep in his core, that they found it fun, found enjoyment in creating chaos in the court's infrastructure. He was sure it was cathartic for them, therapeutic for these court outsiders to ruin the place they despised, to be paid to do so of all things. 

The acts, though not catastrophic, were enough to inconvenience Beron, to create issues in his supply lines. All of the small riots, the court disturbances—each one had begun to eat away at his composure, had begun to sow seeds of doubt. The constant irritation of these minor upheavals fueled his rage. It angered him to think that his lower-court members, the very people who had sworn loyalty to him, would dare to believe they could challenge his authority. In his mind, it was an affront to his pride. Beron was driven to prove himself repeatedly, to show that he was still the supreme ruler, to assert his dominance even more cruelly than before.

Eris moved with a grace that belied the savage intensity of the fight. If this fight, this moment with his father, were a symphony,  Eris was its masterful conductor. Precise, deadly. With a swift maneuver, he brought his blade to Beron’s neck, the tip dangerously close to ending the High Lord’s reign.

Beron’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily breaking through his usual composure.

As Eris had suspected, Beron's need to reassert control following the disturbances had led him to become increasingly harsh and unforgiving, to become the cruelest version of himself.  It wasn’t just the overt displays of cruelty; at times, even Beron’s own loyal men were visibly taken aback by the severity of his punishments. The once-feared High Lord now seemed to revel in his own brutality, meting out harsh reprisals for the smallest perceived slights. 

Citizens of the Autumn Court had begun to pray fervently for change.

Eris took note of their desperation. He began to frequent churches and visit temples more often, subtly goading the very prayers that begged for relief from Beron's tyranny. He felt a pang of guilt for the suffering inflicted on those innocent fae who bore the brunt of Beron’s cruelty. The weight of their pain was not lost on him. 

But their suffering was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause. The freedom of all, the chance to redeem the Autumn Court from the grip of a tyrant, to restore his own tarnished name. 

Eris’s sword was struck from his hand with an almost too-easy motion, as if he had allowed it to happen, had planned for it. But Beron didn't notice, didn't think too much of the act as his grin widened. 

He examined the blade of his sword. Then, with a dismissive flick, he tossed the sword near where Eris’s lay, the clatter echoing through the chamber.

"My son," Beron sneered. "Let me show you how a real ruler fights."

He took a step forward. The crowd took a step back. And then, Beron threw a heavy punch at his son, the impact so forceful that Eris swore he heard a crack. As Eris staggered, Beron’s demeanor shifted, his mockery giving way to raw aggression. He moved in and began to deliver a relentless series of blows. 

There had been a point where Eris feared he might have undermined himself, might have jeopardized his plans. A moment where Beron confronted him, unevenly calm, about his meetings with Night Court trash. When he'd unleashed a fierce punishment in response to his alliance with Briallyn falling.

Beron had seen Eris for what he truly was: a significant threat. 

Beron was not stupid. 

But he was easily distracted, easily provoked. The more Beron’s attention was consumed by rage and suspicion, the less he could focus on the real threats closing in around him. Eris had shown submission, a form of fear, and his father's attention shifted to other alleged wrongdoings, other supposed acts of treachery.

Beron’s fists hammered into Eris with unrelenting force, each punch landing with a sickening thud. Eris’s world narrowed to the sharp pain with each strike. His father was monstrous now, uneased at how quickly his son seemed to fall. 

When Eris finally fell to his knees, he was barely conscious of the cold floor beneath him. His father's grip on his neck was ironclad, dragging him upright. He felt the trickle of his own blood mingling with the sweat on his face, the warm, metallic taste filling his mouth.

Through every blow, Eris's cheeked ached with the desire to smile. 

As a child, Eris had seen eager men tear each other apart in brutal brawls, rage consuming them entirely. He had watched with cold fascination as he stirred up hidden snakes beneath fallen leaves, prodding them into a vicious battle. He'd seen them strike and coil, each one consumed by its own fury.

He realized, even as a child, that the evil eat their own.

 All he needed to do was provoke them and step back.

Beron's supporters were as simple as he could be. Animals led by their desires, by their emotions. It had been endlessly entertaining to create disunity between them. Each faction, desperate to curry favor and secure their own power, began to betray one another. The resulting chaos caused Beron to question everyone’s loyalty, leaving him isolated and paranoid. The more they scrambled with conflicting stories and accusations, the more Beron became convinced that everyone was deceiving him. They all suffered. They all fought.

Beron’s eyes blazed with fury as he picked up his forgotten sword and pointed the blade at Eris. 

"Fight back!"

But his son did not. 

Eris had exploited Beron’s vices with a precision that only years of calculated cruelty could achieve. He was observant, had to become his father to know how to defeat him. And one thing about Beron: he indulged. He was gluttonous to his core, carelessly so. 

Beron’s high-ranking members had wanted to gift him something of luxury—something they’d only heard whispers about, whispers that they couldn’t trace but were plentiful. Interesting how that worked, Eris mused, how easily rumors could spread. But everyone wanted to get into the High Lord’s favor, so they pursued it, presented it to Beron. He accepted it with greedy, sin-sticky hands.

Beron hadn’t wanted the faebane antidote, never had enough contact with the poison to recognize it—didn’t know what it tasted like, how to test for it. It helped that, over the years, the crafters of Prythian had become inventive, altering and manipulating it, infusing it into drinks that were delectable, even addictive. The gradual degradation of Beron’s grasp on reality only made his anger more volatile. Eris wondered how his father hadn’t noticed his deteriorating health, why he never questioned why his strength seemed to ebb or why his flame flickered erratically when summoned.

But Eris also understood. Beron’s pride prevented him from admitting any weakness, from seeking help. He was desperate to maintain an image of invulnerability. What good was a High Lord who couldn't handle his liquor? 

What good was a High Lord who grew sick? 

None at all.

Eris took another kick and the slash with a stoic defiance.

“This is your chance, boy. Take it. Take it before I rid you of your pathetic life.”

Eris’s response was a grim chuckle, his laughter punctuated by a spray of blood. His chest ached with every breath, yet he couldn’t stop the dark humor from spilling out. 

"I already have."

When Eris was nineteen, a male his age was stung by a bee. It was a seemingly inconsequential event—just a small, buzzing creature that landed on the boy’s skin. Yet, within hours, he was dead. The sting had triggered an allergic reaction so severe that the male's immortal body couldn’t cope.

In the aftermath, as Eris watched the reactions of those around him, he learned a profound lesson. The deadliest threats often come in the most unassuming forms, in the things that are overlooked—vital to life, but neglected nonetheless. 

Beron lunged forward, blade aimed straight for Eris, for the heart he often forgot he had.  But just as the weapon descended, Eris’s gaze shifted to something behind his father. Despite the searing pain, despite the specks forming in his eyesight, a smile managed to curve Eris's lips. 

A wave of pride, of relief, washed over him as he watched his mother—sweet, neglected, and unassuming—strike true, slicing through Beron's back with a smooth, lethal precision.

The force of the strike caused Beron to stagger, his blade’s path shifting, falling and cutting deep into a lower area of Eris’s abdomen. With his slackened grip, the blade fell from his father's hold. Eris grimaced as its weight dragged it out of his flesh, as it went clattering to the floor beside him.

His vision was clouded with pain, but he remained transfixed as his mother moved with a fierce grace. Her hand, now wreathed in bright, licking flames, grasped Beron’s throat. With the other, she twisted the blade deeper into his father’s body, the fire searing his neck.

Eris’s ears rang, drowning out all but the relentless drum of his heartbeat. Despite the chaos, he could make out his mother’s voice, the words crisp in the oppressive silence.

“This is for my children.” 

There was a sputtering sound from Beron, sick and wet, as the blade was twisted deeper. Eris felt a burning sensation, pain so overwhelming it took his breath, his vision blurring as the agony consumed him. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once.

He had never felt so alive, so broken at the same time. 

Beron’s body crumpled beside him with a lifeless thud. Eris blinked through the haze.

Around him, chaos erupted—people running, screaming, power crackling in the air. He strained to focus, his gaze drifting past Beron’s corpse, and through the chaos, he saw something glorious. 

An angel, perhaps. Something of breathtaking beauty. The glow around it, a song that called to him. Rushing toward him, screaming his name.

It was you.

 At least, he believed it was you.  Eris wasn’t sure anymore.

No, he managed to tell himself, it was you. He knew you. 

He knew you the way one knows the pull of the moon on the tide, the way his soul knew the other half of itself.

It was your voice, mingling with the din of madness, your voice that called to him. Eris wanted to close his eyes at the sound, to bask in the feelings it stirred. You fell to your knees beside him. 

He felt his mother’s hands on him, steady and warm.

Then, everything went black.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hi guys how did i do??? i just think the idea of a sneaky lil eris letting the people around him fall like dominos is sooo entertaining. i strongly do believe his rise to power will be rooted in SUCH small, calculated moves hes made around people.

a big thank you to my love @sarawritestories for reading this for me<3 mwuah

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[ohnoitstbskyen]

Okay, here’s an interesting one.

Before seeing your content, I’d basically only ever heard the term “power fantasy” used as a derogatory term to describe over-the-top protagonists who are strong and cool, but also boringly devoid of personality so the audience can project onto them. But then some of your League videos talked about skins letting characters like Gragas “inhabit more interesting power fantasies.”

So… when are power fantasies a good thing? The best I’ve got is that it only works in interactive media like video games so that the audience can more directly engage with the fantasy (essentially: Dante from DMC works, Kirito from SAO does not)

I mean, power fantasies are just endemic to storytelling as a whole. There isn't really a hard "this is when they're good, this is when they're bad," they are core to several genres of media and can't be extracted from them. Most video games are power fantasies, just by nature of their mechanics.

Power fantasy isn't a genre (usually), it is just a tool, same as any other trope or convention. It is a means to engage the audience with a story.

An RPG where you level up and become stronger to defeat more difficult enemies? That's a power fantasy. Undertale where you get the best ending by finding some way to spare absolutely every monster and end every fight mercifully? Power fantasy. The Tomb Raider reboot games that take an almost sadistic glee in putting Lara Croft through absolute hell both physically and emotionally? Those are power fantasies about overcoming and surviving those impossible challenges.

They're not just power fantasies, they have lots of other stuff going on, but power fantasy is an inherent part of them. Romance stories also often include power fantasies, specifically about the power of love. "He's broody, dark and broken, but my love can fix him" is a power fantasy, for example, as is "an unjust society keeps us apart, but we will defy everything to be together!"

Even being The Final Girl who beats the horror monster and walks away at the end of the movie can be a power fantasy, if a rather grim one.

If there is a general case where power fantasies become "bad," I think it is when the power fantasy is all there is, and it subsumes all other parts of the story. Shonen manga often runs into this as they get longer, and the power system and escalating battles against ever more powerful foes become the overriding driving force of the story, to the exclusion of everything else. Shaman King comes to mind for me as a particularly egregious example, or Bleach.

Isekai is also riven with this. You can't walk two steps these days without tripping on a "TRANSPORTED TO ANOTHER WORLD WITH MY SUPER OP CHEAT SKILL" premise, where the entire purpose of the story is simply to act out unchallenged wish fulfilment with no friction or tension or character development. Those stories get boring very very fast... unless of course the power fantasy being played out is your specific power fantasy. Yes, OP protagonists winning everything with no challenge is boring, but this OP protagonist is building a sapphic cottagecore witch polycule with an ever-expanding harem of emotionally damaged lesbians, so... y'know. Maybe I'll give it a pass.

It's generally less interesting and useful to observe THAT something is a power fantasy, than it is to observe WHAT KIND of power is being fantasized about. Zombie apocalypse stories are often power fantasies, for example, but there's a pretty noticeable difference between stories where the power fantasy is banding together and building a life with a found family in horrible circumstances, stealing joy from the end of the world in spite of everything... and stories where the zombie apocalypse is an excuse to enact paranoid right-wing prepper fantasies where the hero protects their property (home, land and women) against the verminous hordes of the monstrous Other, and is reified and uplifted by the employment of brutal violence.

[maximumqueer]

Out of all of the many many reasons I love gear 5, one I haven't talked about yet is how much Luffy so obviously loves gear 5 as well.

It is honestly revolutionary to have a shonen protag's final form be enjoyable for them. To not be something born out of anger or hate; a thing born out of strict necessity that has to be unlocked by painful emotions/the loss of someone they loved (temporary or otherwise) but rather born out of joy and a desire for freedom. To have them want to be in that final form, to have it spit in the face of the idea that the only way to be powerful is to be serious, edgy, ""mature"" and to abandon joy and happiness in favor of that.

I LOVE that Luffy's final power-up doesn't come at the cost of who he is as a person, and instead amplifies and uplifts who he is. It uplifts his carefree nature, his goofiness, his creativity, his sense of wonder. And as such, the form is something that he enjoys more than any other gear he has used. It allows him to be the freest version of himself, allows him to bend the world around him to his whims, of course he's going to love it.

It also (in a weird way) acts as a message of self love. Luffy does not have to abandon who he is to become stronger, but rather has to lean even further into who he is. The traits that make him 'weird' and 'strange' by pirate (or hell, even just by regular standards) are the very things that boost him up and allow him to win against his foes.

A "ridiculous power" Kaido called it, and yet it was that power that sent him hurdling to the center of the earth, toppling his reign over Wano with the very thing he robbed from its people.

[erosiism]

A CASE OF REGRETS | YANDERE DUKE X M!READER.

prompt: you die during a rebellion, and he turns back time for you in desperation | reader is childhood friends with claude (OC), both are planning a rebellion to usurp the throne.

character(s): duke, you

warnings(s): nil

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, excerpt from my fic on wattpad, to make amends

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

"Y/n!"

Blood spurted out.

"Y/n!"

Your vision blurred.

"Oh gods, are you okay? Are you—"

Your ribs hurt: were they broken? Bloodied? You could certainly taste the horrible taste of iron present in your tongue. It was clear to you that somehow you were dying. That something had turned against you. That you were...

"Please, please, please—"

Through your muddled vision you could make out a figure. A familiar silhouette running towards you, legs stumbling in desperation, breaths ragged.

It was nice to know that when you died, someone would grieve for you. That someone would cry for you.

There was only one person in the world who cared so much for you.

"Claude," you murmured. There was a smile on your face. "There's no need to cry..."

"Y/n, please—no—"

"Save it." You sighed, "there's no way I'm going to be surviving this."

It was true. Blood jetted out of your wound in spurts, staining your tailored uniform with a bright, crimson hue. You had loved that color mainly because Claude had ruby eyes, but now it just seemed gruesome, horrid. Pain had simmered down into a steady brew, and you wondered if your pain tolerance had simply grown stronger, or it was a telling sign of your fading consciousness.

"You were such a brat last time." You murmured. "You used to throw tantrums and everything...for a while, I thought you despised me. Even when we became adults, you were still heartless, cold...so why do you weep for me? Why do you grieve my death?"

I was a fool last time, Claude thought silently. I was a fool. I was a fool not to have shown my affections last time.

Because the truth was plain and simple, written in ink, written in the stars: Claude adored you. Was it not you who had held his hand in the gardens for strolls? Was it not you who accompanied him throughout, was it not you who could make him crack a smile, make him laugh? It had been all you. Every single joyous moment he had was caused by you. When he had finally received the title of the Duke. When he had finally defeated his family and his foes.

But Claude had been so wrapped up in his own troubles he had failed to notice your problems. Your dastardly family. Your...

He had neglected your wellbeing—he hadn't seen your deteriorating state, your weakening smile—he hadn't see any of that. He had been self obsessed, too engrossed in his own matters that he hadn't even—

Claude had taken too long to warm up to you. He could have been sweeter earlier. Made your life easier, no matter what it was. Claude had taken a while to truly open his heart to you: he had been rude, ungracious, curt. And you had been patient. Endlessly patient with him.

"We can save you," Claude said desperately, "we can."

You laughed. A tinkling, magical sound—but at that moment, it was so damned. So fucking painful to hear the cracks inside, the strain hiding inside the tone.

He knew it would be the last time he would ever heard it.

"You are the Emperor. You finally reclaimed your right to the throne. You finally..."

"Y/n," he whispered.

You shook your head.

"You achieved everything you sought for."

Perhaps he did. But the thing he truly wanted had been in front of him this whole time and he had been blind. Utterly blind.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

The tears slipped. His voice felt suffocated; choking.

"Don't cry," you touched his cheek gently and that pulled Claude temporarily out of his panic—"don't cry, alright? It was inevitable, Your Grace. Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Your Grace. Even then, you hadn't referred to him by his name. If he had another chance—just one singular chance—

He would allow you to call him by his name.

You were his everything.

You're my heart, Y/n.

If you die, then that would make me heartless.

There was so much blood, Claude realized. Coating his palms, running down your back. So much of its thick texture, its color, all drenched. Every single bit drenched—

Why was there so much blood? It wasn't his. He  wasn't unhurt, really. He wasn't that well off, but not to your extent. You sounded so tired when you spoke, so faint. So weak. You could have disappeared any second. Claude held you in your arms softly, gently—you could disappear any moment, your breaths wavering and quivering.

No, no, no.

I love you, Claude thought deliriously. I love you. I love you. I love you so much—

The voice grew and became stronger; louder even as you grew cold. Claude rocked you even when your hands fell, holding one to his own cheek. Your hands still had the faintest bit of warmth. He clung onto it desperately; motionless with the tears dried up with his throat feeling like sandpaper.

You can't leave me, he'd thought deliriously, hugging you close and rocking you again and again and again, you can't leave me.

Y/n L/n, I love you too much to let you go.

.

.

Claude had failed to save you. In front of him, your beauty was still visible in his eyes; your (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes—because of his arrogance, his incompetence, you had unfairly died. He had not noticed the blooming feelings in his stomach until you had been cold in his arms, and his tears had splattered on your cheek.

The universe has been cruel to you.

He had stood by your side and had watched you suffer and suffer and suffer; and for what? Only for the gods to turn their back on you? What was the point, really? Claude had been with you this whole time. Had seen the sacrifices you poured in, had seen—

He should have been the one that died, Claude despaired. Not you. Never you.

That night he couldn't sleep. The place was too empty without you. He had been crowned Emperor. But there was no you to accompany him by his side.

There was...absolutely no point.

Why was he even alive at this rate? Claude wondered. Everything would go back to life before you. Tedious. Long. Meaningless.

"Your Majesty, the Empire—"

"—do whatever you want." Claude rasped out. "Just...just..."

Please. If the Gods are listening. Please, please—

Turn back time. For me, for Y/n.

For...

[ The Gods have heard your prayers ]

.

.

Turning back time was unheard of. Something in the legends. Something Claude didn't believe in. Yet when he woke up—there had been disappointment in him, he had assumed that this was heaven yet you were nowhere in sight—there was the familiar surroundings of a room.

Not the Emperor's bedroom.

The bedroom from the manor he once lived when he was the illegitimate son of the Duke.

I must be dreaming, Claude thought. There was a flicker of hope he didn't dare to believe in. I must be dreaming of the happier times and the million what ifs.

Pain was tugging at his heart. It was painful. Everything was painful...

"—don't bother him. He just recovered from a sickness."

What?

What?

Delusional. Hallucinating. Delirious. To hear your sweet, sweet voice in such a dream—perhaps this was heaven after all. Claude didn't ever want to wake up. He didn't.

Because you were there. In front of him.

He sucked in a breath.

As sweet, as polite as he remembered. Every inch of his face had been committed to his memory. Every contour, every line. He had mapped you out in his head and had aligned you with the thousands of dazzling stars in the universe because you were the reason he bothered to continue living. Because you had become his reason for living.

You stood, in regal attire, with your posture as graceful as he had remembered. The sunlight streamed in through the paneled windows, caressing your features and alighting upon your lashes. He swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Ah, you are awake, Your Grace." You smiled at him.

"Y/n L/n," he said finally. "Y/n L/n." It's been so long since he could say this name to someone who would hear and respond to it. So many times he called your name out of your desperation in vain: hoping for some sort of hallucination to pop up, for some sort of inkling that your voice would carry over to his ears.

And you smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled—

Claude reached out to you and buried his face into your clothes.

You gave a startled smile.

.

.

The Duke had done a 180 complete turn.

"Y/n," he spoke with uncharacteristic fondness that you just didn't understand, "you are..."

Tears. There were tears on his cheek. Had you done anything to offend him? You thought not.

"Your Grace..." you reached out to brush his forehead with your fingers, "are you alright? You don't seem to have a fever."

Claude stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh," You heard him say, and then, "you are as beautiful as I remembered."

What?

"Your Grace, are you really sure you are fine—"

Claude dashed forward, not even registering your words. He crushed you in his arms, a hand in your hair, head buried in his neck. He missed this. This warmth and this scent. Home, home. It's the smell of home. It's the smell of you. It's you. It's you. It's you. 

It worked, he thought. It worked. It fucking worked. I traveled back in time. 

"... Well then," you gave a small chuckle, confused upon what was happening, "it's a relief to see you have awoken—why are you crying?"

"You're here," Claude breathed, his first tangible words since his return. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here, Your Grace." You looked at him with confusion etched all over your features, frowning. "What's wrong? You..."

The Duke was looking at you like you were the only one that mattered in the world. And that—

Wow. What kind of coma did he have, to be behaving so peculiarly?

You wiped his tears, sighing and fussing.

"You know what—never mind. Tell me later—why are you still crying, Your Grace?"

Claude held onto you tighter.

Maybe he had bad dreams in his coma, you thought. He was holding on to you like you were a lifeline. Like you would disappear any second, any minute.

As though he would never let go of you again.

You patted the Duke's head gently, slowly, fingers running through his hair. "Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Those words. It was so hauntingly painful to him.

Claude didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't  need to remember. He had succeeded. The Gods had listened to him. You were alive and breathing, in front of him. You were—

Alive.

reblog/like the post! comments are appreciated even if you read this before :)

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x GN!Reader Synopsis: He left as a hero, and he returned cold and heartless. What adventures have made him like this? Would you still love him? Themes: angst, post-WC! Kunigami, set during Blue Lock's two-week break after their win against JP U-20 (chapters 150 - 153), reader is hopeful, Kunigami lost all humanity, established relationship, if you squint a little it's kinda like Epic's OdyPen lmao Author's Note: Epic The Ithaca Saga is ruining my brain chemistry. A mutual and fellow writer already created something like this but I wanna put my own twist on this hehe!

@thebestsetter ✨

Kunigami Rensuke was a hero before he became yours.

He always believed in goodness, helping everyone else, and acting like a big brother to those who needed his guidance. It's no wonder his morals bleed through his play on the field. To win each game fair and square while he showcases his skills. Watching how he turned into a knight in shining armor every time he stepped onto the field, defending his team from the enemy and scoring his goals was mesmerizing.

So, when he was invited to the Blue Lock Program, you weren't so surprised.

"How long will you be there?" you asked him once while you were on his bed, watching him go back and forth around his room, packing a small duffle bag of the things he might need in the facility. "That's something I can't answer right now, love," he replied, "it's something they never clarified in the letter. But let's say 2 or 3 months, give or take."

"Take care of yourself in there, okay? Show them the hero that you are," you reminded him, smiling up softly as he zipped the bag close. He was ready. Ready to face a new adventure, new challenges, and new foes and allies. You can feel the excitement radiating from him. "I will. Then when this is all over, I'm coming home to you with stories from my training."

"You're not leaving me behind, are you?" you teased, reaching for his hand. On his ring finger was a promise ring, the same one you wore. A symbol of his love for you and his promise to marry you. Your fingers gingerly held on to his ring, feeling the rough metal against your skin. "I will never. I'll always take you with me, remember? I'll be back before you know it."

3 days later, he left with a kiss, a promise, and a vision of him taking over the world with his aspirations.

A few weeks in, you received a call from him, happy and excited to talk to you. He told you about the things he's learned, the friends he's gained, and the foes he's made. He spoke about an Isagi, a Chigiri, and a Bachira, and how these people made him feel stronger with how they all blended on the field. You were proud to hear him grow and find friends.

"How did you get your phone anyway? I thought the letter said phones aren't allowed?" You asked him.

"We were given a star system where goals are exchanged for points that we can use for different privileges," Kunigami explained, "I exchanged my first goal for steak, and shared that with Isagi. Now, I exchanged two of my goals for my phone so I can talk to you."

Always so considerate. Your hero never changed despite the changes he's experienced in Blue Lock. With every point he earned, he'd always exchange it for phone time to call you and tell you about his adventures.

Suddenly, the calls stopped.

You're sure Kunigami wasn't the type to never make a goal. Was he getting into harder challenges in there? No matter how hard it was, you knew your hero would never back down.

Right?

It worried you. You kept looking at your phone, waiting for a call. You kept replaying your conversation weeks ago about a possible second selection and how it would play out, and you worried it was even more challenging than the team matches. Would he get out of it alive? Triumphant? Of course! Since when did you start doubting your hero?

You began to twist your ring, anxious about Kunigami as the days went by, each one feeling longer than the last. It's making you sick. He was never the type to just disappear without saying anything.

The announcement of an exhibition game with Japan U-20 made you feel hopeful again. Knowing your hero, he would be part of the starting 11. You saved enough for the tickets for you and your sibling to watch him play live. You were excited about what skill he gained in Blue Lock, and if he improved to be the best version of himself.

But why wasn't he there?

You know Isagi was there... Chigiri... Bachira... but where was he? Where's your hero?

The win was a blur. How can you even cheer for his team when he isn't there? It's impossible that he's benched too. Kunigami was never the type to warm the bench for the whole game. You wanted to ask Isagi... Maybe Chigiri because Kunigami has talked about him the most. Bachira might know too. But it's impossible to reach them, especially with how they disappeared into the building after the game.

"Where are you?" you whispered into the empty stadium.

Maybe it's time to let go. No. Kunigami made it clear that you would never let go. You'll wait for him to call. You'll wait for him to send you some kind of sign. Anything. Letting go is never the answer, he would say if he's beside you. So, with every passing day after the match, you never went anywhere without your phone, hoping soon he'd call.

How cruel must fate be that the only time you let your guard down was on the day he decided to show up?

Your mother opened the door for him, a gasp leaving her lips. She led him to your door and left him to talk to you. From the outside, Kunigami tensed as he wrapped his large hand around your doorknob, hearing your voice spilling out as he opened it slowly. And for a moment, Kunigami would like to believe nothing has changed. For a moment, all he could see was the light he held on to.

There you were, sitting on your desk as you studied with headphones on, singing one of the songs from the playlist he created for both of you to listen to. Clearly, in your little world, you didn't hear Kunigami enter and close your door behind him. Kunigami sighed, and then he opened his lips to say your name.

Oh, it felt like a lifetime since he spoke your name. Kunigami felt a piece of him remembering what it was like to say your name the first time he met you.

"Y/n."

No answer.

"Y/n," he said once more, a little louder. He saw you perk up a little.

You don't know if you're just imagining things or if Kunigami's voice sounded nearer than how you'd usually imagine it on the days you missed him. And then...

"Y/n."

You removed your headphones, standing up so quickly that your chair toppled over and fell to the floor with a thud. In front of you right now was your hero, the man you waited to return. You held your breath for a moment as you took a good look at him. He looks... he looks...

Tired. His build was bigger, but he looked tired. His hair was a thick mop of messy orange, his eyes...

"Rensuke?" You spoke with caution, "Is it you?"

Kunigami felt like he could fall to his knees the moment you spoke. But he wouldn’t allow himself to do so. You stepped away from your desk to walk to him, holding out your hands to touch him, that this wasn't a dream. He was cold, his cheeks, at least.

That was enough to break you. You embraced him, crying and grateful that your hero had returned. "You're back," you sobbed softly, "my Rensuke, you're back to me." You felt him lift his hands, but instead of embracing you, he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him. "Y/n," he spoke, his voice ragged but soft, "I'm not entirely back."

"W-what do you mean?" you asked, your teary eyes, wide and confused, looking up to meet his dull orange eyes. This was the first time you've seen him so lifeless. What the hell happened?

"I'm not the Rensuke you once knew. That version of me is gone."

"What?"

"I'm not the hero I promised you to be."

"What... I-I don't understand. What happened, my love?"

Rensuke looked at you with a slight hint of vulnerability. He must not show weakness. It was drilled into him that he'll be ruthless, he'll become irrational if it means becoming the best that the world will see. But with the sight of you, it felt impossible. "They... changed me. I'm not the hero we both envisioned to be. I... I had to become cruel and let go of my beliefs... The Rensuke you fell for because he believed in doing the right thing fair and square is dead.

"That's why I decided you can no longer love me, Y/n. Because I can't."

You're not hearing this, right? Yet, he sounded so sure. His voice was firm, the same one he would use on his teammates.

"Who are you to decide that?" you asked calmly, reaching for his hand again. Your gaze lowered to his hand, callused and tired, yet the ring was still there. A little worn out than the last time you saw it, but he's still wearing it. Your fingers worked on twisting the ring off his finger, causing him to tense up.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. You looked up at him with determined eyes. "You once told me when you got these rings for us that if we no longer love the other, we should remove our rings.

"I'm removing yours for you, Ren."

The ring was almost off his finger when he suddenly closed his hand. You looked up at him, and there he was, the Rensuke you fell in love with. "Don't, please..."

"But you said you can no longer love me," you reasoned, still holding his hand. Rensuke stared at you, his walls slowly breaking down at the reality of what he just told you. A stupid, stupid decision because he can't stop loving you.

The whole time he was in the Wildcard Project, the only thing that made him hold on to the little humanity he had in him was the promise of forever in your arms when he returned. The ring on his finger comforted him on nights when he almost gave up because his dream of becoming the best came from you. He promised he'd bring you with him and that he'd come back to you. So, he persevered and came out triumphant... but at what cost?

"How could you even love a cold-hearted man, my love?" he asked, his voice now a mere whisper, slightly cracking, "I have nothing left in me but the drive to win. I am no longer the warm man you want to be with for the rest of my life. I did all I could inside that facility for us to reach our dream, but they drained me. How can you still love me if I have nothing to give you any more?"

"I would still love you because no matter what, you're mine. You're my Rensuke, the man who made me believe that love as pure as yours exists in this world," you replied, "I don't care how much you've lost in there. As long as you return in my arms, I know a part of you that loves me and believes in us is still in there. I know you're still in there, Ren."

And with that, Rensuke broke down in tears in your arms. The place he had always longed for in the days he felt so alone. The warmth that he always yearned for in the coldest and loneliest nights. He's home. He's here.

"If you didn't care about me, you should've removed your ring a long time ago," you added, "but the symbol of your love for me is still there. A little worn, but I know you still have love for me.

"I've waited for you to return. This is all that matters now."

"I love you," Rensuke said between his tired sobs, his orange eyes sparkling with a little bit of life. He's still in there, the hero you loved is still in there.

"And I love you."

[xesnox]

Minecraft Wither.

Reupload from my Bluesky.

This was specifically a concept for my Minecraft game theories AU, I’m still figuring things out but I think this might come close to a final design,

It’s supposed to be the Wither, the one that wiped out a large chunk of the ancient builders. Might make it look more Devine / significant as a result but this is what we‘re rolling with for now.

Lore below cut.

About the Wither.

The Wither is an amalgamation of deceased human flesh and bone, ashes, biomechanical engineering and the souls of the soldiers who fell in the process of moving colonies to the nether. it is a product of said horrible dimensions way of harnessing death as a natural power source, and a result of a gone wrong (or perhaps divinely punished) resurrection attempt. It was called to life by an enormous wave of grief, hate, agony, death and mass hysteria following the discovery of soul magic and the first massive loss of one of the many strikes the Ancients made against the Piglin in a greedy attempt to conquer land.

The thing about the Ancients is that even though they appear to be just slightly less primitive than the average modern day builder in thought, they were, at some point, blessed by the gods, wich caused a strange process wich, if enough of them were present, had (sometimes physical) effect on the environment around them, and could lead to manifestation of whatever they believed. Wich ended horribly for them as all it took was a single bad event for an endless spiral.

The Wither was the first creature born of hate, not one wich was given life by the desire to progress as a society, but one that was born of pure unadulterated hate, grief and agony.

And it reflects its birthplace as such.

As it does nothing but spread just that like a plague, withering the ground below it and sending particles of decay flying, wich, if they were to touch you, would curse your skin to burn and rot wherever it made contact. It absorbs the death it causes, growing stronger the more destruction it spreads, but never loosing its goal: to hunt and kill all those responsible for summoning it.

But it, eventually, vanished completely alongside its creators, and has never been seen since.

If anyone in the modern day for whatever foolish reason decided to summon it, a disclaimer should be given that it is not entirely possible, at least not to our knowledge. You can recreate such a being in rough shape, size and behavior but no amount of intention can ever recreate the society wide wave of panic that summoned the creature that wiped out 87% of the overworld in the blink of an eye.

The creature you’d find yourself eye to eye with if you did succeed would be a lesser version of the one your ancestors had to face, three heads, each owning a white pair of eyes filled with concentrated soul energy, boney body, spreading death and decay across anything it touches; as it is a reflection of your own anger, ache and loss; but always, always primitive, and broken, lesser and incomparable. The creature they discovered was a virtually unkillable beacon of doom, the one you can is a personal shadow.

Still the introduction of such a massively destructive foe into an (especially a closed off) ecosystem of any kind is strictly prohibited, as it is extremely harmful for our still recovering Dimension as a whole.

@your-ne1ghbor @pennysucks

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it.  As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day.  ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR:  You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight.  Check out the types below the cut: 

Infantry (pawn):   Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds).  Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage.  The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight):  A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully  the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages.  Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes.  Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players. 

Controller (bishop):  The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples),  by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers,  barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting:  1 per 2-3  players: 

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows.  Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast.  Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players. 

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

[darksilvania]

The 5 Underground Lake pokemon

HAGABABA [Hag + Baba Yaga + Baba (Slime in spanish)] Poison/Dark The Slimey Pokemon Abilities: Gooey/Liquid Ooze - Corrosion (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become acidic. Its body is naturally covered by a layer of slime that protects it from the corrosivness. It can alter the properties of the slime all over its body, making it slipery or sticky at will. It can even make it acidic and use it to attack its foes.” Moveset: -Slimeball: >Poison type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user spits a large glob of acidic slime to its opponent” >This move its also considered dark type >This move leaves the field covered in slime that causes entry hazard, if the move is used a second time, any entering pokemon will become poisoned -Sludge Wave -Nasty Plot -Acid Armor

THINKERFISK [Thinker + Inketfisk (Octopus in french)] Psychic The Starry-Eyed Pokemon Abilities: Clear Body - Misty Surge (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become psychoactive due to the presence of special fungi. This has altered and greatly expanded this pokemons mind.” Its brain is said to be in a constant altered state, thanks to this it has achieved the ability to see through time and space, past and future, and even achieve enlightment.” Moveset: -Psychedelia: >Psychic type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user bombards its foe with a terrifying mental blast of changing colors and sounds.” >This move confuses the target. >This move reduces the target speed -Expanding Force -Power Gem -Cosmic Power

SPOOKIMERA [Spooky + Chimaera] Ghost/Flying The Long Nose Pokemon Abilities: Cursed Body - Perish Body (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has lost all oxygen, making it impossible for anything to live in it. This pokemon are the spirits of the fishes that used to live inside the lake before it became inhospitable, now they remain trapped in it, wearing their old skins as cloaks” Moveset: -Breathtaker: >Ghost type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user sucks the air from the field, making breathing harder” >This move its also considered flying type >fire type moves can’t be used after this move. >fog, mist, haze or gas are removed -Hurricane -Ominous Wind -Mean Look

TERRORICE [Terrorize + Ice] Ice/Steel The Terrible Claw Pokemon Abilities: Ice Body - Bulletproof (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches subzero temperatures without freezing. To withstand the cold, it covers itself with a thick ice armor, stronger than steel. Its giant claw works just like a chainsaw, using it to cut through ice and rock when looking for food.” Moveset: -Chilling Chainsaw: >Steel Type/Pwr 110/Acc 85/PP 5 “The user slashes at its opponent using its ice cold chainsaw-like claw” >This move its also considered ice type >If the opponent is frozen, this move deals double damage and removes the frozen condition. -Ice Hammer -Metal Claw -Sword Dance

SCALDORM [Scald + Ormr (Dragon in old norse) Fire/Dragon The Intense Heat Pokemon Abilities: Water Absorb - Storm Drain (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches temperatures above the boiling point without evaporating. It withstands the immense heat thanks to its unique oily skin. It produces an oily substance that protects its skin from the water’s heat, this same oil can be used as fuel, and will keep fire burning even underwater.” Moveset: -Liquid Fire* >Fire type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user attacks with a stream of burning oil that remains on the field afterwards” >This move may cause burning >This move leaves a fire entry hazard on the field >This move is super effective against water type pokemon -Scald -Dragon Breath -Fire Spin

[furinana]

SMTIV's hilarious extortion mechanic and its meme status in the Japanese fandom

The grey morality of the alignments has nothing against pure greed.

[spoilers for both SMTIV and SMTIVA ahead]

1) Rundown

In Shin Megami Tensei IV, after purchasing the Fundraise App from Burroughs, Flynn will be able to request Macca from foes during battle. -> Foes will give Macca in small increments, at which point you can ask for more or stop talking and accept what you've been given. -> They may become infuriated upon being asked for Macca or repeatedly asked and attack the party. -> Occasionally, they will even simply give up and grant you a large sum.

2) Explanation

The rewards you get from only killing enemies are much more scarce in SMTIV compared to previous titles. Money is needed for buying good gear and filling your demon compendium, so you can understand how pivotal for game completion farming for Macca is in SMTIV. Hence the option for earning much faster through the Fundraise App.

On an additional note, the best way to take advantage of this method is through inflicting the enemy with the bind ailment before asking them, as it'll work 100% of the time with three turns worth of money without a chance of being attacked. Also, since enemies don't have a money limit, you can repeatedly fundraise from the same target as long as it's afflicted with the status.

Comic by みゃべ. This is a redraw of this meme

Flynn's boldness goes so far that not only random encounter demons but even story bosses can be targeted as well, including past companions:

3) Fan response

This uniquely cruel feature shocked Japanese fans so much that Flynn became commonly referred as a カツアゲ王 Extortion King .

@kingyo_neko "I don't think there's a more ruthless extortion king than Flynn. Unlike the first SMT protagonist, who only targeted Temple Knights, Flynn is an indiscriminate street attacker."

@ametoya "Someone said that Demi-fiend was the King of Chaos while Flynn is the King of Extortion."

To such an extent that many became flabbergasted by the contrast of how his personality was handled in SMTIVA:

@Fomalhaut15 "It makes me sick to my stomach to see Flynn, who has been mercilessly extorting his enemies previously, being called a star of hope and a hero by those around him."

@kakougg "The Flynn I know was a guy whose hobby was extorting demons, I don't think he was any sort of savior" @kuuusuke009 "The image of Flynn was of a protagonist without personality, but in SMTIVA he has become an eloquent young man, and I thought 'You lying bastard… you took off your pants and tried to stick something up your nose, beat up hunters in the tournament, and even tied up demons and robbed them…!'"

@sanbonosrmkr "Me playing SMTIVA: 'The Flynn I know extorted even the weak, and was merciless even to his peers…! He's a murderer, he's not a sociable, righteous person!'"

@kitaonglacier "Frankly, the only thing Flynn should be respected for are his extortion skills."

4) The junior extortionist continuing the legacy

While Nanashi's negotiation apps decreased in quantity (Dagda probably doesn't want you fooling around compared to Burroughs), Nanashi's greediness doesn't leave the older protagonist to shame.

In fact, the amount of fundraising targets is even bigger than the previous title's, with grunts from Ashura-kai and Ring of Gaea being particular examples of which Flynn couldn't dialogue previously while Nanashi is able to not only talk but do it in a threatening tone:

And if you thought that becoming a savior made Flynn give up on his old ways, you couldn't be more wrong! Flynn's (in)fame regarding stealing only became stronger with SMTIVA's release:

5) Flynn and Nanashi's fund partnership

Translation of SMTIVA's official guide, page 45:

> Additional funds provided by Flynn

While accompanying you in the Bonds or Massacre Route, Flynn will provide additional funds if you're successful in fundraising.

You can earn more money in the Bonds route, however Flynn will only follow you in YHVH's Universe. In the Massacre route, you earn less money but Flynn will accompany you wherever you go.

When farming for money (whether for the Demon Compendium or to purchase equipment), it's a good idea to make use of Flynn.

> Conditions for Flynn to acquire additional funds

Route | Occurence conditions | Effect

Bonds route | Give the fishing hook to Flynn and it will always activate when Flynn is in-battle inside YHVH's Universe | 1.5 times the amount of money earned per successful fund

Massacre route | Activates with probability of 50% after fund. If the enemy becomes affected by the bind status, it will definitely be activated. | 0.5 times the amount of money earned per successful fund

[Recorded usage of both routes (please click to zoom in!). Asahi is the best partner for fundraising as she's the only one that won't hurt the enemy which means it'll stay alive for much longer to suck it dry.]

Fans absolutely couldn't leave this feature uncommented:

@atumiko "Whenever he acted all cool I'd be like 'I don't know such a beautiful Flynn... who the heck is this guy...' But when he started doing his extortion thing, I realized 'Ah... this is the Flynn I knew...'

Flynn not only hunts after targets to steal from but also occasionally gives you pocket money that must come from his pillaging. I think it's not right to praise this guy as a savior"

@mousugu26 "I was shocked when Flynn started raising my funds. It's unprecedented for the protagonist of a previous game to be treated like a mugger. So it's canon after all?"

@shibakani3baisu "I love Bonds Flynn's gentle voice when mugging..."

@0225And "I think I'd be happy if Flynn-senpai put me in a bind state then mugged me gently and pleasantly with his handsome voice."

@kitaonglacier "Flynn in SMTIV mugs with a dirty look on his face, but Flynn in SMTIVA mugs in a gentlemanly way.

The sequel made him ooze so much gentleness to the point of even turning him into the kind of person who gives the money they extorted to their junior."

@tohuyasan "I like how Flynn seemed to want to say 'You're still lenient, Nanashi' to Nanashi's extortion. #don'tyouhaveanymoreanymore*"

* Fans love to quote まだあるんじゃないか" (don't you have anymore?) and それだけかい (is that it?), the two sentences Flynn say during fundraising

@maida0493 "Flynn is the best, he doesn't forget his spirit of extortion even after becoming a Godslayer… He rips off his opponents with such a deep voice…"

@yokarebing "In my opinion, Flynn's voice when extorting doesn't sound threatening. It's a normal and soft voice that gives the impression he's smiling while doing it, which makes you feel he's a pro at this.

Flynn helps you with stealing funds so it's the best, I do nothing but mug people at this point. I don't care about YHVH, I just want to keep extorting others with Flynn for the rest of my life"

6) Fan names

The most popular fandom term that has been used since SMT4 is 緊縛ファンド kinbaku fando (bondage funds) for when you fundraise targets inflicted with the bind ailment. I once saw a Western fan referring to it as "Bind Fund" so there's your ENG equivalent

When referring to Nanashi receiving additional fundraising from Flynn, fans say 追いファンド oi fando (mugged funds). As shown above, the term used in the official guide is フリンによる追加ファンド Furin ni yoru tsuika fando (additional funds provided by Flynn). The nickname comes from turning 追加 tsuika (additional) into 追い oi, a shortened form of 追い銭 oisen which is part of the proverb 盗人に追い銭 nusubito ni oisen (additional fee to a thief), a saying for when you give the thief more on top of what was already stolen from you.

Now, to wrap this up...

There's something many wonder...

7) Why the need for the fishing hook in Bonds?

@yokarebing "At Lake Mikado, Issachar's ghost entrusts you with a fishing hook to give to Flynn as a keepsake ← Got it Give the fishing hook to Flynn ← Got it You are now guaranteed to get an additional extortion when extorting demons ← Why"

@nobe0202 "Why does Flynn, who was born in the Eastern Kingdom of Mikado and lived a farming life in Kiccigiorgi, started extorting and currying favors as soon as he put on the Gauntlet?"

@kitaonglacier "That's probably a custom in his hometown as a form of a greeting"

@hnskk_ancyd "Flynn, a child that becomes an extortionist with an old playmate's memento"

@kuuusuke009 "I wonder if it was Issachar who taught Flynn how to extort money... ('w' ; )"

@Dunamis_Anthrax "Could it be that he had memories of extortion with Issachar and started doing it because he missed them?"

@vernogame "Issachar is the man who taught this devilish savior such a skill... Just how frightening is he...?"

@kuuusuke009 "Nanashi: 'The master who taught Flynn how to extort money must be a scary person.'"

Comic by カイザー. Please don't share publicly my translation, as it could upset the original artist.

@vernogame "Issachar,

your will has now been passed on… ( ; ; )"

Epilogue

Jokes aside, one can't help but wonder... does the fact that both Flynn and Nanashi come from humble backgrounds give a nuanced interpretation of the canonicity of this feature?

Nanashi must've seen his own share of fraudsters while Flynn specially would need an extra income to save himself from eternal death.....

[mystycalypso]

The Sandwich Incident, 199X:

The group huddled around Dr Greyman, a momentary silence of horror at his words, before Laserblast spoke, "How is that possible?" The question had a hint of dread in his voice as he began lifting the doctor to his feet. Foxtail quickly stepped in to assist.

"Don't worry, Doctor, I'm sure it's only temporary." She assured him. Silverspark shifted on her heels, pacing closer to the briefcase where Greyman had tucked the weapons.

"Guess they were stronger than they looked. What do you say we grab s'more or em before they fall into the wrong hands? We could even use them against our foes-" Her head turned back towards the group, only to be met with Foxtail's palm.

"Absolutely not! I wouldn’t wish this fate on our worst enemies! What we need to do is to find the rest and disarm them completely! We can’t have this happen again!" Silverspark's eyes shifted down momentarily before she nodded.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll go in."

Laserblast practically jumped at the words, making a small grabbing motion as Rippy slid his helmet out of her pouch. "I could go with you. For backup!"

"M-Me also go, as, uh, double backup!" Box-ER stammered, rushing to his side and practically knocking the helmet back out of Laser's hands.

Foxtail nodded as Greyman dusted himself off. "Rippy and I will stay back here and see what we can do about Greyman. Good luck, you three."

Laser shot her a two-finger salute, "You guys too. Take care Doc!" The Powetzer shot up from the floor. Sharp metal clanking rang out as he hit her fist against outside of the driver's side door. "Let's go, you two. Evil doesn't wait for slackers." She remarked, rolling the window up again.

"All right." She tucked her head back behind the wall, facing the Junior members again. "According to Greyman's intel, the lab is underneath that doughnut shop over there. I’ll go in there and disarm those weapons. Quick in and out."

"So, what do we do? Keep anyone off you while you work?" Laser asked, cracking his knuckles.

"You," she pushed his fists down. "Will stay here. You two are my lookouts."

"Lookouts?!" His voice swirled with disappointment and confusion. She pushed a finger to her lips, her tone turning sharp.

"Shhh! You're both still junior members, it's too risky to have you go in on a mission like this. You're lucky you even get to be lookouts."

"Are you kidding? What so then you think you're just going to run in there by yourself? That's crazy Sparks-!" She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Hey, watch your tone."

He sighed, slumping his shoulders forward. "Sorry... But- what if you get ambushed? What's the point of being members if we can't do anything? Please...let us help you."

"You are helping me," She promised, her voice softening again as she took his hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs over the fabric of his gloves, causing his muscles to untense momentarily. "By keeping watch here." She smiled despite the childish frown that grew almost immediately back onto his face.

"Hmph."

"Trust me, I'll be fine! 'Ts not like I'm gonna bite the dust in there, c'mon." She nudged his shoulder but his frown remained. She chewed on her cheek for a moment. "Ah, I know."

She took his hands, sliding his gloves off before tugging her cuffs off as well, sliding them over his hands and onto his wrists. Box-ER rolled his eyes at the cheesy gesture. She tucked his gloves into her pocket.

"See? Now I gotta come back, for both our sakes." She laughed and began backing up, "Keep 'em safe and shiny for me will ya, pretty boy?" She shot a point to Box-ER as she stepped out of the alleyway. "Keep an eye on him wontcha Boxx?"

Laser sighed, sinking against the wall and examining the cuffs as rain began to pour. Box-ER shifted nervously beside him, digging his untouched lunch out of his pocket. His eyes wandering between the sandwich and his softly smiling teammate.

"Uhh.. y'know, we're like a sandwich." He mumbled.

"...What?"

"I mean- it's like you and I are like this sandwich." He lifted it slightly. Laser's eyes wandered from the bread to Box-ER's.

"Um, Johnny?"

"All the ingredients are good on their own, but combined they create something amazing." His eyes sparkled faintly, "The perfect team."

Laser smiled softly, "Boxy, I think we're a really great team too." He let out a small chuckle as he shifted, looking at the ground. "It's so nice to have a friend like you for once in my life."

The light vanished from Box-ER's eyes. "...Just a friend?"

His helmet lifted again to look him in the eyes. "Just-?" He paused, reaching around the alley corner.

"Uh-um, maybe I didn't explain myself right-"

"Shh, wait. I think Spark's is in trouble-"

"Maybe we're like, a... a calzone!"

"We need to move in. Now!" He barked as he pushed up and off to his feet.

"W-w-wait!" He pushed infront of him, shoving the sandwich up by his face. "We can eat this sandwich!"

"John-!"

"Just wait."

"This is serious! Get out of the way!"

"No, listen to me! I'm the tomato, and you're-- you're whatever part of the sandwich you wanna be. Smoked ham?"

"What are you talking about?! We don't have time for-" an explosion erupted from the donut shop. Laser's face dropped from anger to horror. "Silverspark!" They ran up to the shop as it lifted into the air, rapidly shrinking infront of them.

"U-um, she'll just be really small, Grey can reverse that-" A black hole opened as he spoke, and the donut shop disappeared. "Laserblast, I-I-"

"Silverspark!" He ran, sliding down into the pit left beneath the shop, yanking his helmet off as he scoured the crater. "Sparks?! Silverspark?! Sparks?" His feet stopped, and his head fell. "Carol..." Box-ER attempted to follow, slipping down the side of the pit before hurriedly getting to his feet again.

"Y-you know, Laser, I bet if we go back to HQ and get Foxtail, she'll know what to do!"

Laser's eyes remained trained on the ground. "She couldn't have survived something like this... if- if I had gotten here, I could've saved her-" he lifted his hands. Looking at the rain running down the cuffs onto his bare shaking hands. "She's gone." His hands clenched, turning to face Box-ER as he screamed. "Why did you stop me?!"

He stammered, raising his hands in defense. "Huh- no, no no- I didn't mean to!"

"I told you she was in danger!"

"I just wanted to talk-"

"I told you and you didn't listen! If you had just stayed out of my way I could've- I SHOULD'VE-" He shouted through clenched teeth, "Do you have any idea what you've done?! Do you even care?!" He demanded, moving closer as Box-ER attempted to back away.

"She's gone! She's gone forever! And- and it's-"

"IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!"

He shoved him down onto the ground, knocking the rain-soaked sandwich out of his hands and onto the dirt, hatred burning in his eyes as energy sparked around his fists.

He raised a clenched fist to his cyborg teammate, watching him tremble on the ground, bracing for the strike the best he could. His fist fell to his side again.

"...I hope your stupid sandwich was worth her life to you." He turned away, scaling the pit again and leaving his former friend in the mud.

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Let Me Bring Them To You

Description: You can jump through realities, and after watching Wanda in so many different universes, you decide she doesn't deserve to be sad, so you do something about it.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None - Bit of a tear jerker though

Relationships: None, but could be seen as eventual Reader/Wanda - Reader is no gender specific, no use of y/n

AN: This is a reaccuring dream I sometimes have, I just want Wanda to be happy, that's all. I hope you enjoy this. Sorry if there's mistakes, I haven't slept in many hours :)

You were able to jump through realities, it was a gift you had your entire life and you used it to watch how other realities worked, you liked to compare them to one another, taking notes for everyone you visit. The most recent one you had visited had broken your heart. You knew of the woman, Wanda her name was. In some universes she was apart of the X-Men and in some she was an Avenger, and in others, she was neither. You had taken a sudden interest in her. She was...complex, wonderful and so powerful. 

The reality that had broken your heart was because of Wanda, you watched her lose everything, she had nothing. She lost her parents, her brother, her soulmate and than her children. Over the years you had watched Wanda in the many different realities, you had grown fond of her, you couldn't bare to watch any longer. 

The rule you would usually follow was; watch and do not interfere. But Wanda, she was hurting, she needed someone with your gifts, and truly, there wasn't alternate reality police, there were time police, but never realityt police, not that you had run into, so really, who would it hurt, helping Wanda. 

You knew you had to be quick, Wanda was so powerful, and that power mixed with pain, you didn't even want to imagine the damage she could do. A part of you adored her power, but mixed with all that pain, you couldn't bare it. So you searched and searched. You couldn't bring her parents back to life, nor her brother. Vision was important to every reality he was in, granted he wasn't in them all. But her children, the two boys, they were in every reality, and after searching for the reality you were hoping for, you found it. 

The two boys, Billy and Tommy stood alone in the orphanage, sure it was a fancy one, it had been funded by Tony Stark, but they were motherless. And you couldn't have that, though you had never met Wanda, and her closest ones, you had been watching them for so many lives, you felt like you knew them. So you used your powers and appeared in the room. The two boys looked scared for a moment, but curious also. 

"Who are you?" Tommy asks, he stepped in front of his brother, though Billy also tried to step in front of Tommy. They looked ready to use their powers against you. 

"I'm a friend, of your mother's" You say quickly, holding your hands up to show them you weren't armed. This reality in particular wasn't a nice one, the villains were somehow stronger, and smarter than in other realities. Hence why the Wanda of this world was dead. 

"Our mother is dead" Billy says quietly, both boys have tears in their eyes. 

"And what if I could bring you to a different reality, you could be with your mother again?" You suggest, smiling softly, you needed them to know that you were a friend, not a foe. Their eyes light up and they soon agree, so you take them with you, taking them to your home reality, and letting them stay in your home. You needed to speak to Wanda first. Alone. The boys argued, but then you introduced them to the gaming console you had, they were soon distracted. 

You concentrated and travelled through the reality vortex, landing straight in Wanda's kitchen. It was a sweet little cabin, you adored it, and you had thought many times about enjoying your life here...with her. You opened your eyes and the first thing you saw was red. 

Wanda was looking at you, she was angry, dressed in her red costume with her magic ready to strike at you. You hold your hands up and bow slightly, showing submission to her. 

"What do you want?" She asks, her accent strong as she speaks. 

"Wanda, you need to trust me, can you do that?" You ask, feeling stupid, you adored this woman, and now you felt silly with whatever words you used. She cocked her head, her eyes narrowed towards you. "Look into my mind, see that you can trust me"

She steps forward, pressing her fingers to your temple, you feel her magic flow through you, you liked how it felt, being this close to her finally after watching years of her different lives. After a few moments, she takes a step back. 

"You have my children?" She asks quietly, her voice breaks as the words leave her lips. She stops her magic, the room stops looking an angry red and now looks like the calm sun streaming through the window. 

"I do have them, I can travel through realialities" You say, explaining your life to her. "I found a world where they lost their mother, they aren't your exact children Wanda, but I can bring them to you, and the three of you can live happily"

Wanda was crying now, she fell down onto her knees, wrapping her arms around herself, for a moment, you thought maybe you did something wrong. You had only wanted to help. So you step forward, and crouch down, you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, she looked like she needed a hug, and it had been so long since she had a hug. She cried softly into your touch. 

After a little while, she had calmed down, you both moved away from the hug, she looked up at you with red and puffy eyes. 

"Why would you help me? Why do this for me?" She asks, it was your turn to turn red, you flushed red from head to toe. She had seen in your mind all the times you had watched her in different realities. She knew about your little obsession, she was your idol. 

"Because, you're a good person Wanda, you deserve something good to happen to you" You say with a shrug, like what you were doing was literally nothing. She wiped her tears and stood up, you followed suit. "Let me bring them to you" You add, she nods. You travel to where Billy and Tommy were, and travelled with the, back to Wanda. 

When the three of them saw each other, there was no, you're from this universe, you're from that universe, they ran to each other, hugging. Wanda wrapped her arms around the boys, and they both gripped on tight to Wanda. It was a perfect moment, and you felt a few tears in the corner of your eyes. In that moment, you knew you had done something good for Wanda. 

You turned around, ready to leave the cabin so you could go back to traveling through the universes, not wanting to distract their moment, when a hand grabbed yours. You looked down seeing Wanda's hand on yours. 

"Thank you" She whispered, you shrugged and smiled. "Stay, please? I have to repay you"

"No, no need" You answer simply. Her happiness was thanks enough. Oh god, you were in deep with this woman. 

"I saw into your mind you know, you want to belong somewhere...You can belong here, stay with us, please?" She asks, her voice a whisper that tugs at your heart. 

"Okay, just for dinner though" You reason, but you know deep down, you would definitely be staying for much longer than just dinner.