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luvether · 17 hours ago

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Finallly found the time to read this in full and I’m so…enamored?? Good lord I already expected good writing just by the masterlist itself but after sitting down and reading this in its entirety the writing is insane. I can tell you’ve written before, like–written fics be it long fics or just stories because the way you structure this—and the fact that there’s so much stuff for me to yap about and yet it’s still the first chapter is beyond insane. You’re so damn talented.

I’ve heard about you from some mooties—also saw that we have the same mutuals and I’m so glad I delved into this one and I’m glad you’re dipping your toes into the hsr fandom (belated welcome I’m so happy to indulge in your works!)

I should’ve asked permission beforehand but the cut below is gonna be some sort of textual analysis from me. I’d have to apologize if this bothers you/you find this annoying, I genuinely wanted to yap about this series eueu this is so long I’m so sorry 💔

I had some highlighted paragraphs + with small thoughts attached to them but to summarize what I genuinely love about this is the fact that it isn’t constrained by actual canon-compliant lore, the way you establish environments + world-building is so hooking, this entire thing is so hooking I love this so much (might actually be my addiction for the next couple of weeks) the way you write your narrative is soo intriguing to me, your writing style is absolutely phenomenal and also I wanted to address about your worries op, there’s no need to be concerned, fanfics are meant to be for fun not for critique and writing this while not playing amphoreus is already a talent because you practically got Mydeimos’ character down + your way of writing about him is really well, and judging by the comments + reblogs you definitely did not disappoint ❤︎

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

10/10 hooking line!! <33 also this is another case of wishing tumblr had like a highlight-bookmark feature, so I wouldnt make this so long but I have so much to say in the paragraphs I highlighted so sorry to trouble you for reading my mess of a yapping 💔 anyways whatever the first few paragraphs are, I need it in my system. Stating this but I love how the first paragraph in particular already gives us depth and explanation of how the husband is—and reader finds more kindness and solace on an inorganic stone than their partner. love how you establish that aspect, really builds up what their relationship is gonna be, and the fact that it’s the first paragraph.

As for the second paragraph, honestly just wow (help, I barely even skimmed the waters and I’m already yapping, I’m so sorry) the writing is so atmospheric, if that makes sense. I like to piece apart each paragraph this way :’)) I definitely love the description the most ‘A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd.’

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard.

Nothing important in particular to say for this, I just like how you worded this. Genuinely top-tier writing, it sounds so scrumptious for some reason, simple yet very vivid description of a location it makes me want to know more of the world.

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

Going to my second point, I might be mad for this, but I love the dynamic so much?? it’s hard to explain it. There’s something with the way Mydei and reader had one thing in common yet not at all. It’s hard to explain it I wish I can, both are spoils for the husband and yet everytime Mydei jabs at reader—especially the first time they talked it makes sense? His anger and mockery is not misplaced, especially when he took a jab at reader’s docility on everything. Then the back and forth of reader trying to show sympathy and saying something opposite the next due to Mydei’s insults. There’s an unwritten beauty with the way you constructed their relationship. The slow build-up of it is what’s keeping me on my toes, every word shared between them is definitely the opposite of what filler would be.

The way you also made the world extremely bleak and grey, not a single tone/word of joy or something bright except when you described Mydeimos (which I think is a very nice detail, the fact that he’s associated with the sun)

“I am not. He cannot harm me.” You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

I LOVE THIS, brilliant writing, I love reader’s neutrality and knowing that it can be favored one way or another. Also, the conversation between the cousin, the king and reader is also very well-thought and put together. There’s so many hidden meanings to what they said and the way you executed their dialogues. Also, out of topic but curmudgeon is such a lovely word, definitely adding it to my dictionary ^^

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

THIS one. This paragraph from Mydeimos blew me out the water, my favorite dialogue in this whole chapter actually like, chat i’m so cooked, been smiling like an idiot and punching my pillow after reading this, it’s the little things that always gets me and the way you make Mydei word this, to notice the intricate thing with both disgust and awe at her mannerisms, urghhh it’s just too good. You know what you were doing whilst writing that line /lh

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Going back to the part where I mentioned how both Mydei and reader are literally two peas of the same pod, both chained with magics, living in absolute misery, torn from their homes…their relationship so far after reading this whole thing is my Roman Empire. You know for it being the first chapter with a grand total of 10k words, you’ve established so much already and the fact that’s everything is explained well + fleshed out is immaculate? the talent?? like the world-building is so good, the dynamic between Mydei and reader? Golden, the king and his cousin? Well-established, the conflict/backstory of both Mydei and reader and their ire towards the king? explained in a way I can understand without it being tedious—the pacing is not slow and not fast it’s literally goldilocks.

And do I want to know more? Absolutely, I’m genuinely excited for this series. Op if you manage to read until the end, uhm hello and I hope you don’t mind adding me to the taglist? I’ve been converted to a threefold fan 🤍

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less.

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might.

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart.

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air.

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three.

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind.

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood.

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime.

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer.

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said.

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced.

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

#🔖 bookmark #🦌 𝓚oue faves !#definitely going into my faves #hi op i’m sorry for being the most insufferable reblog in this entire thing I try to take it down a notch but i genuinely need to yap #about this genuine masterpiece my nonchalance i fear has been thrown out the window #highlyy recommend this mydei series for sure #a well-written fic that’s a 10/10 in my book it has every trope and every detail-oriented style that i love #thank you for writing this it’s soo good <33 #and for feeding mydei fans i know they’re jumping for joy #definitely will reread this btw #mydei x reader

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annarmy16 · 3 days ago

Text

LNDS Li as cat

My personal through about it, don't get on my sleeve.

Zayne

Probably The most quiet one

Since he became a member of your family, he's always calm

Even your friends noticed it, they tell you about his specie

"Maincoons are usually acting like predators" Nahh forget it

Except when you finally find THE THING

Laser pointer... Yeah

One day you were just responding to a friend and with the sun reflection, it became a tiny point going around the house

He became FERAL

Usually comes to your lap when your working

When your relaxing somewhere (watching TV show, scrolling on your phone) he will ask for pats

He would complain if you are not going to bed at 10pm

Xavier

Sleepy boy, you always find him somewhere in your house in different positions you weren't thinking possible

But he never is asleep when you come back home with someone

Like he only trust you to see his sleeping feature

Speaking of people, never let him with a man

You did forget something in your home one day and just let a friend of yours get in to not be rude and get you material

You found your friend in a corner with Xavier staring right at him, his fur making him bigger

And he starred at you like nothing happened

Will love sleeping with you you don't have the choice anyway

Will wake you up SO EARLY to get HIS FOOD

Do not let some leftovers, he will eat it before you say something - especially meat

Sylus

Princess treatment reserved for him

Like : the cushion for him isn't big enough or comfortable enough for him, you will found it teared apart

Same goes for his food

But don't get it wrong, he will do it for yours too

One time, you did get a lot of junk food because you didn't had time for some days

The second time you did that, he smashed away the plate - don't push your luck

All you could do was eating salads you made for the next day

But he isn't as bad as he may looks, one time, some stupid people where doing sh!t when they wanted to get at you when you were living your home

Let's say he just followed you and maybe wanted to jump and scratch the face of these pitiful people

He has a soft spot for belly rubs

Rafayel

Listen there - ahhh you can't, he's always making noises

When you wake up because you have business to get back to - he complains

When you want to sleep peacefully and close the door behind you without making him enter the room - he complains

Always by the door when you come back tho, wait for you to put your shoes away and rubs at your legs till he gets pats

You're stressed ? No problem, he will drives you crazy

"No Rafayel, let the vase alone - RAFAYEL"

Till you lay down and he comes on your lap purring

Did I said he will follow you around the house like a puppy?

Specially when your going to take your shower, want to be there anyway

And in fact you did, now every three months, with the veterinarian advice, you take a shower with him and he loves that

#lnds #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads zayne #lnds zayne #xavier love and deepspace #lads xavier

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sparklystarrrr · 23 hours ago

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Curiouser and Curiouser...

Riddle R. x Alice! Reader

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝔀𝓸 ~ 𝓒𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰

Once we had trudged far enough into the school, we had eventually made it to the grand Mirror Chamber known through all of Twisted Wonderland. I never in trillion years thought I would get to see it in person and be able to get evaluated into a dorm by it, but here we are, beside a pompous crow man and a flaming cat thing, so I doubt anything could defy the odds further. Once we had walked into the orientation, I looked around at all the boys surrounding me. Some had big ears atop their heads, fluffy tails, teeth akin to a shark's, and some had the most interesting features I had ever seen before like odd noses and beaks, or webbed hands, even flaming hair! This was certainly nothing like I had seen in the Queendom of Roses. I saw almost everyone watching me and it was so incredibly uncomfortable! No girl would enjoy a whole auditorium full of boys looking at her whilst she walked down a never ending isle of them on either side plus in front of her! I held my hood to cover my face and my (h/c) hair from everyone's view.

As I made my way down, I noticed the variations of height in the boys sitting beside the mirror. Some had been quite short, around my height, and some were incredibly tall. Once again, some had ears, bright eyes, the list of incredible features expanded everywhere I looked. For some reason there had been a floating tablet too...? I'm not quite sure what that's about... The boys had seemed to be mumbling about the crow man, who had fortunately been the headmaster, and how he had been tardy. The bright eyed boy said he may have a tummy ache which I giggled at. "I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT!!!!" The headmaster, who I found out was named Crowley, screamed while walking me towards the Dark Mirror. I opted to stay silent. The Mirror was large and intimidating. It had a void-like shine to it. "Ah, speak of the devil." I heard. That voice sounded... a bit familiar... I'm not entirely sure who it was though."If you must know, I was searching for the new student who'd failed to show for orientation." He declared while looking at me with a passive aggressive stare. I pursed my lips and twirled a lock of my (h/c) hair in my fingers in an irritated state. A headmaster he certainly was...

"You are the only one who has yet to be assigned a dorm. Step up to the Dark Mirror young man, and be quick about it. I'll watch your weasel." Before I could make a sharp reply and say that I was not in fact a boy for the thousandth time, he shoved me up to the steps before the Mirror. I looked around at the crowd behind me, then back at the ominous Dark Mirror in front of me. I stepped closer. I waited for a moment. Then a burst of green flames shot up from what seemed to be inside the mirror, I jumped back a bit. A crackling sound followed as the ignition weakened. A large white intricately designed mask with gaping holes for eyes and a mouth appeared. "State thy name." It's bellowing voice echoed. "(y-(y/n) Pleasance..." I mentally cursed myself for stuttering. Why did I have to do that at a moment as life changing as this... Oh I'll definitely be embarrassed about this later.

"(Y/n).... The nature of your soul is.... Vibrant, child-like and full of wonder, yet poised and quick-witted... Your magic flows like the calm waters of the ocean, though the waves may rise... A young woman of your power will make a much appreciated fit into Heartslabyul..." The Dark Mirror finished his verdict. I was in the Heartslabyul dorm... alright okay, that doesn't sound incredibly terrible. I'm sure my father was in Heartslabyul too... he will be surprised to hear his youngest daughter got in too, hehe!! I smiled to myself and then looked around behind me, then at Crowley, and oh my goodness this man's jaw had dropped so far it had positively been in hell. "... a... FEMALE??!!!" He shrieked. The whole crowd had erupted into a cloud of whispering and giggles. I heard a few sentences like, "Should I get her number after this?" and "I can tell you right now man, she's probably so cute", what I would give to make these boys hush. I even heard things like, "How did she not get sorted into Pomefoire?" And I can tell anyone right now I would not last a day in Pomefoire. As much as I love makeup and pretty things of the sort, getting picked on by a MAN for how I look is absurd.

Crowley frantically went to the Dark Mirror to find an answer to this supposed madness."Are you suggesting the black carriage went and received a female? The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! How could this have happened?!" The man was, in simple terms, floored. He went on a whole rant to the Mirror about ,'In my years of being the Headmaster of this prestigious school, never once has a girl been administered here blah blah blah...' While he had his temper tantrum, Grim was trying to escape."Mmmmmph. Nnnrghhh.... ME! Let me have this kid's seat!"Crowley had ended his rant and turned back sharply to the cat."Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!" The whole sea of students went into a panicked frenzy. Students ran as far as they could from Grim and the boys who sat nearest to the Dark Mirror tried to rally everyone up while I stood in shock and horror.

"Unlike that girl, I'm a boy! So let me be a student here! Look, I'll show ya! My spells'r the cat's meow!" Grim shouted with an extra teethy grin and summoned a few balls of hot blue fire! And one was coming right at me!"Get down!" I heard a boy's voice shout to me while he knocked me to the ground before the fire could touch me. "Ouch! What did you do that for, sir?!" I yelped, not completely registering the boy on top of me from the shadow that his cloak cast upon his face. He seemed to get a bit choked up,"I was just trying to get you away from the fire, I apologize for knocking you to the ground. There is not time for this. Now get up and control your rambunctious familiar!" His jumped off me and ran towards the rest of the peculiar boys and I was starting to wonder if they were a big deal at this school. Suddenly another ball of fire grazed my face, going right past me and hitting the behind of the bright eyed boy! "AHHHHHHH! HELP! I'm on fire!!" He screamed while his arms flapped around like wet spaghetti noodles and fire crackled on his behind.

Through all of that, Crowley was too busy making sure all of his students were trying, or making a terrible attempt at trying to catch Grim while he was on his arsonist rampage"Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the whole school ablaze!" He screamed while standing and doing nothing. The taller boys grouped around him with deadpanned expressions and I grouped in with them while brushing my cloak of the dust I got while being knocked over. The tall lion-tailed man's gruff voice spoke through the chaos, "Ugh, can I go now, or..." The tall purple haired man's elegant voice spoke next, he looked rather beautiful too"Oh? And I though you assumed yourself a hunter. Go and fetch that plump little morsel!" His smirk grew on his glossed lips while the lion guy grumbled under his breath before walking away to go sleep on one of the dark wood pews,"Too much effort. Do it yourself." With that he yawned and walked away.

Next to them stood a slightly shorter boy who had silvery hair and black rimmed glasses, looking a bit shady like a scammer my mama would tell me to stay away from. "Allow me to handle this, Headmage Crowley," He said with a smirk and placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder,"If none of you are up to the task of catching a small animal, I will accept the responsibility." His chest puffed out and my eyes instantly went from him to a floating tablet? How much weirder could this place get, I'm so confused! "WTG Azul. Rackin' up those participation points." The tablet... spoke? "Excuse me Mr. Crowley, but could I possibly help-" "MY BUTT'S STILL ON FIRE SOMEONE HELP MEEEE!!!!!" Before I could interject, I was once again cut off by these immature boys! Does no one seriously know how to run a prestigious school like this???? I sighed heavily and ran over to assist the bright eyes boy. Water splashed from the palm of my hand and landed straight onto his legs and back, effectively extinguishing the blazing fire. He sat up and looked at me with a smile even brighter than his crimson eyes,"Thanks man! Sheesh, I was in quite the pickle before!" He giggled as I pulled him up from the ground."Ah! Yes, of course..." I trailed off while ignoring him calling me a man"I'm Kalim Al-Asim! You're (y/n) Pleasance, right? Odd name for a guy, haha!!"

I giggled alongside him because, little did he know, I was not in fact a boy... dun dun dun(he didn't need to know that right now, there are bigger issues at hand rather than what lies between my legs)! We then both turned around to see the fur ball still shooting people with his flames. "How many times do I gotta say it? I'm Grim, spellcaster extraordinaire! I am NOT a weasel!"He cackled while his number of fire balls increased, so did the size of them. They were around the size of my head! The silver glasses boy spoke with a cocky tone in his voice and grabbed the shorter boy next to him,"Aren't you a spunky little fellow. Riddle, would you be so kind...?"Riddle? Could it really be him?"Furry miscreant. I will abide no rule-breaking. You will be judged by my hand." The boy spoke and held up a red magic pen which glowed with fury. My eyes widened. Would I really get to see Night Raven College students in action? Suddenly without a second thought the two boys ran into action, their feet quick and steady against the dark purple velvet carpeted floors. Their magic pens flashed magic through the air while aiming at Grim who was taunting them and continually throwing flame balls at them. To their loss, Grim was seeming quite victorious. Azul and 'Riddle' had quite a hard time aiming and timing their magic together in sync and it caused them to bump into each other.

"Not exactly a seamless effort Azul. Try timing your magic with mine." Riddle said with frustration lacking his voice."Here's a better idea: why don't you time yours with mine instead!" Azul remarked while Grim laughed manically at the two's pointless argument"See?! I'm a WAY better mage than the two of you combined!!" the cat giggled while aiming more blazing fire at the both of them. My eyes watched as a ball of fire was getting dangerously close to Riddle and Azul. Before I knew it, I sprung myself into action, quickly hopping to my feet and making a mad dash towards the boys. The hood of my cloak had fallen back and revealed my (h/l)* (h/c) hair and my very feminine face that contradicted the boys around me but I couldn't care less. I jumped in front of the two to knock the fire ball out of the way and spoke my unique magic "CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER!" Hundreds of cards flew straight out of my hands as Grim was captured into a tea pot with intricate rose patterns on it. I jumped from the floor I was standing on to catch the teapot before it would break as Grim was flying in midair. I swiftly grabbed the pot and fell to the ground on my feet before falling over, holding the teapot full of a wild Grim close to my chest. That fall certainly hurt... I looked around at the quiet room and saw everyone looking at me, oh how embarrassing this was!

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #disney twisted wonderland #heartslabyul #alice in wonderland #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic

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positivelybeastly · 2 days ago

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One of my bigger issues with the All-New X-Men era is how in spite of the whole time travel thing being kicked off by a Beast vs Cyclops framing, the more consistent and upfront framing was Cyclops vs Wolverine. I get Wolverine is popular. I get he had an iconic rivalry with Cyclops. But the actual buildup to revolutionary Cyclops was much more focused on Hank being the one to stand against him and have opposing ideas, and I feel like that was tossed away to boost Wolverine again. After the time travel, Hank just kinda stuck around to occasionally be yelled at but he wasn’t at the forefront of that conflict anymore. His character was a vehicle to get to the new status quo of the O5 kids being in the present.

So how would you have approached this era as a more direct continuation/exploration of Scott and Hank’s falling out? You can choose to keep or discard the time travel elements if you want.

Ahh, then you and I share a very similar outlook on one of the many reasons why All-New X-Men blows chunks!

So, yeah, this is a problem endemic to X-Men comics of the late 2000s and early 2010s, where they wanted to duplicate the success and storytelling possibilities of Civil War by manufacturing a conflict between various X-Men, and then splitting them apart.

On the face of it, it's not a bad idea, there's mileage there, and if we acknowledge the fact that the X-Men are essentially a paramilitary political activist group agitating for change, well, leftists literally can't stop fighting each other long enough to mount a proper opposition to most right wing governments, so, that's just on brand, isn't it?

Unfortunately, while I don't think stuff like Schism is quite as damaging to a lot of the X-Men characters as Civil War was to, say, Mr. Fantastic or Iron Man, it really is unfortunate that the other thing they decided to lift from Civil War was that it wasn't particularly good.

Now, as you've intimated, one of the main problems with Schism and All-New X-Men is that by this point in time in the comics, Wolverine was THE X-Man. If you've read X-Men comics from the 00s and 10s, you know that the writers did still centre other characters, most notably Cyclops, Emma Frost, a few others, but because of the nature of a lot of these characters' development paths by this point, it made way more sense for Wolverine to stick with them, and vice versa, because their moral codes were slowly drifting more and more into alignment by now.

But this presents a problem, because Wolverine is the only X-Man who you can sell as being the other side.

He was the only X-Man with a solo series that ran consistently, for years on end, and was always relaunched when it ended; he had been added to the rosters of several high profile teams, including the New Avengers; and there was a notable bump in popularity to any comic that featured him, just as a matter of course.

So, if you're going to split off the X-Men and give them two leaders, he's pretty much the only candidate, because you need to sell comics. Doesn't matter what's best for the story or the most natural choice, you need to sell comics.

Despite the fact that Beast was right there.

It makes sense for Hank to break from Scott. It's consistent with his character - not just because he's still a heavily moral character by this point, but because he has a history of breaking from the team anyway, he's done it multiple times before. He is not dependent on the X-Men to give him meaning, and he's got enough bonds with other characters in the Marvel Universe that he can go and be in whatever and it isn't weird. He went on to be on the roster for S.W.O.R.D, Secret Avengers, all kinds of fun little things.

But there are two problems with making Beast the head of the opposition. 1) He is not a leader; every attempt he's made at leading a team in 616 canon has gone merely okay to downright poorly, if he doesn't just leave the team fairly soon after its inception anyway (as with X-Club). But, more, pressingly?

2) Beast does not sell comic books. He simply doesn't. What's that, you say? He's had three solo series by this point? Well, yeah.

Except, he hasn't, really. He had a three issue series in the 90s that was more about Karma, a three issues team up series with Wonder Man, also in the 90s, and then a succession of back-up stories in other comics through the late 00s that would come to be collected as Endangered Species. Marvel knows he is not a sales magnet.

So, instead, we have Schism. Wolverine makes the decision to split the team, and Hank is pulled in on some fairly tenuous grounds.

In another world, Hank's fourth series, S.W.O.R.D, with Abigail, succeeds, All-New X-Men never happens, or at least, it happens completely differently, X-Force blips out of existence, and I spend months talking about how cool S.W.O.R.D vol. 1 #43 where they all go to the tap dancing planet is.

But, alas, this is not that world.

Hank is dragged into Wolverine and the X-Men, and it's fine to pretty good. I'm fairly happy with the Hank we get there, where he's still fairly pissed off with Scott, but it doesn't consume his life and he's happy to just exist in his corner while Scott exists in his.

Then, Avengers vs. X-Men happens.

Aaaaand then All-New X-Men happens as a direct result.

There's that Beast vs. Cyclops framing you mentioned.

But, the problem is fairly evident once you really think about that final panel.

There's no actual argument here. At least, not as Bendis can conceive it. Because there's a narrative tension here, between what X-editorial wants, and what Bendis is willing to write - what most of the X-writers are willing to write, in fact.

The X-writers are, broadly speaking, unwilling to write Cyclops out of character, and they are unwilling to write him being wrong. How is that, you say? Because everything that Cyclops is saying here is just normal X-Men stuff, and this is being treated as some kind of political treatise when it isn't. It's pure fluff.

Bendis' choice of opposing points for Beast, Storm, Wolverine and co. is: we don't like Cyclops. That is where it starts and ends. They don't have a political viewpoint, apart from, I guess, just stay in their school and keep doing what they're doing . . .

Which is normal X-Men stuff. There is very little that Cyclops and his team do in the course of Bendis' Uncanny storyline that any X-Man wouldn't do, because Bendis is unwilling to commit to Cyclops doing anything actually morally wrong.

And because he also just doesn't give a fuck about the things that Cyclops has done that are, factually, morally wrong.

Such as the use of biological weapons.

The creation of a black ops kill team known as X-Force.

And all of these things, while morally wrong, are, arguably? The correct choice, the choice that was required of him to get mutantkind through. But that doesn't absolve him of guilt, of culpability. These are actions for which he cannot blame the Phoenix Force's influences, and they are actions which are conveniently ignored, so that Scott can be the saintly revolutionary.

Now, that's an awful lot of context, but it's important to set up the conflict as I think it could have gone down.

The version I've thought about previously, the version I've written the outline I'm going to share with you now, goes broadly along the same lines as All-New X-Men up until issue #5, but, with some key differences.

For starters, you take out the stuff with Hank talking about what he's about to do, you basically start right where Ororo, Bobby, Hank and Kitty are talking at the jet, and Bobby has the idea.

Hank is visibly ill, but it's not explicit what's happening - then suddenly the O5 are on the lawn, Hank is having his heart attack . . .

And in my version of the story?

He dies.

And suddenly young Hank has to deal with the trauma of watching his eventual death, so that it isn't just a Jean Grey goes psycho story, suddenly it makes sense that the teenagers are freaking out, because what the fuck.

And Hank didn't make it clear what he was doing, you cut all the bullshit about a mutant genocide, he just kept telling them that they NEEDED to come with him, so suddenly there's a core question of, okay, why DID he think this was a good idea? And it's not like adult Hank DOES anything of value in ANXM, so making it a philosophical debate, a talk about grief, a discussion about Hank's legacy with the X-Men and his leaving them during Utopia, about the way he drifted away from Bobby . . . suddenly, this is an actual character piece.

Suddenly there is a point. Hell, you can even make it a good character piece for Scott and Emma by making it that the Phoenix's presence was what triggered Hank's failed mutation, and suddenly there's a cost to what they did, there's a cost to the mutant race coming back.

Suddenly what they did with X-Force, driving Hank away, and their gamble on the Phoenix comes back to bite them, because this is another mutant body thrown on the pile. Collateral damage.

Now it's not just a ton of faceless Skrulls.

Now it's not just Nightcrawler.

Now it's Hank, too.

Hell, teen Hank and teen Jean hooking up even makes a degree of sense now because they BOTH know they die and they're simultaneously desperate to avoid it and also to make the most of what time they do have because suddenly they became aware of ACTUAL mortality at the age of 15-17.

I'm also going to quote the inimitable @brw with whom I've talked about this concept before:

"A little more mystery, a little more complexity. I quite like the idea of this Hank almost being martyr'd? Like how Magneto and Scott was, some young mutant kids who are understandably traumatised canonize yet another flawed figure into a saint-like position. It adds another layer of grief onto many of the X-Men, particularly Bobby I imagine who gets more and more frustrated seeing the friend he grew away from being misinterpreted like that, but then has to ask himself, did he know Hank well enough in the past few years to make that claim? Did he actually make an effort to know his friend? It just adds to the different layers of the idea of Hank's legacy, what it actually was, and how the figure of him is getting pulled in all different directions to justify their own means. I wouldn't put it past that era of Scott to potentially use Hank's memory to further his own goals, too, as an opportunity to further radicalise and collect more mutant youth, which would add hopeful an actually interesting layer of the conflict between Scott/Emma/Magneto and the school. Additionally, something about young Hank especially being required to deal with all this sudden grief aimed now at him. Yes, he's not the one who died, but I imagine when the inevitable funeral happens and he ends up meeting the Avengers and Fantastic Four, a lot of those complicated, ugly feelings of mourning end up directed at him, and he doesn't even know who half of these people are."

Honestly, it just opens up so many more doors, and, like, especially knowing what happens with Hank's story after that, killing him here to maybe be resurrected in Krakoa is such a rich story to be examined, so much more interesting than pretty much anything that you have in its place.

This way, you have to actually engage with his moral position on X-Force, his hypocrisy in joining the Secret Avengers, the Ghost Box laser strike, THRENODY; suddenly, we have to engage with the stuff that isn't war crimes or obnoxious corporate pandering decisions, we have to engage in actual CHARACTER analysis.

Side note: I absolutely hated this handwave that made Hank look like the most awful hypocrite about X-Force almost as much as I did him joining the Secret Avengers, but it's canon, so, in my version of events, we engage with this double-standard and it brings texture to the point.

Because here's the thing - if someone has a moral stance, and then they go back on it, yes, that makes them a hypocrite, but it doesn't suddenly make the moral stance that they stuck to originally wrong. If Hank is, textually speaking, against Scott's X-Force, but okay with Logan's, guess what, he's a hypocrite (I hated this decision, I hated it so much, it was literally JUST done to maintain the rotation of books at the time), but that doesn't mean he was wrong to oppose the black ops kill squad in the first place!

But yeah, let's dig in! It'd be especially interesting because you have to imagine that Hank was an icon and a role model for a lot of physical mutants, people like Beak and Broo, and especially if you do this story now, before Nightcrawler comes back, you have to examine what that means, that both of the most obviously mutated X-Men are gone.

What does that say about Xavierism? What does it say about Scott that he didn't just use Xavier's name for his school to 'honour' him, but now maybe he's saying that he's doing things that Hank would've wanted, and NOW suddenly Bobby Drake has a fucking story role because he DOES NOT AGREE WITH THAT, and he's the ONE person left alive who can say that to Scott's face.

And oh my god, can you imagine the funeral? Can you imagine what it'd be like for Simon? Can you imagine what it'd be like for Hank's parents? For them to have to bury their son, and for that son to be existing, right there, probably having to hide in the Mansion, just watching them memorialise a man he doesn't recognise and doesn't understand.

The pressure of that. St. Jean, St. Hank. Suddenly it makes sense. You almost don't ever have to answer the question why Hank did it, because it almost doesn't matter, what matters is what other people's answers are.

Again, quoting brw:

"How would you deal with people your age mourning the older you, the you who was a teacher who they loved and looked up to? People you know as villains like Wanda and Pietro apparently having grown into close friends? People who you've never met in your life being almost inconsolable over the death of a stranger who happens to be you? It would also enhance young Hank going off to study magic, rather than being yet another "Because Old me sucks and I don't want to be like him" situation, it's instead "Because I can't even do this work without reminding people and myself of what they lost and I need to make something my own.""

Suddenly, this is a character piece. Suddenly, this is a storyline with a point. Suddenly, this is actually a proper continuation of the conflict we had on Utopia, AND you can still have your Logan vs. Scott confrontations because Hank isn't alive to fight that battle. Easy, donezo. Bish bash bosh, fixed your problem.

Probably not the answer you expected, for me to just say, nah, kill the fucker, but I really do think it's a much more interesting and sensical way to handle the conflict.

#Anonymous #outofmuffins #fire tw #blood tw #hank mccoy

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halojalex · 2 months ago

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New religion is literally just about sucking dick😭😭 truly a masterpiece

nah fr 😭 i don't even like the song but man i love that they did that

#atl's songs have become so much fruitier in general in recent years and that makes me so happy #and like i know there is the argument that new religion *could* be heterosexual but like #it just makes so much more sense as a gay song #if u get what i mean #for one thing the fact that the feature is a man #and as my friend pointed out the use of religious imagery #like no way new religion isn't just incredibly gay #(/pos obviously)#all time low

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maraschinotopped · 1 month ago

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ive been staring at the naqtube channel page just doing analysis thoughts in my head for like 15 minutes and ive just been hit with the realization that Damn this is not normal. normal people dont do this. either the mental illness or the mild sickness is doing something to me right now.

#[cosmic heroes of dubious alignment]#IM NOT EVEN WRITING ANYTHING DOWN. IM JUST BRUTEFORCING THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD.#uhmmmmmm anyways. im trying to think of potential themes naq might have #and its like wow i am not good at recognizing themes bc im dense as bricks sometimes but i swear theres a repeating pattern of .. roles?#the expectation and breaking of stereotypical roles to be more specific #like listen to me here. obviously theres the line ive pointed out b4 with the 'theyre fighting evil/theyre [..] evil' line;#the lines in the unused takes video that paint n&q as less than morally good in /some/ sort of way;#queen buzzbeamer's whole deal as ive said ad nauseam; a more recent example i feel like would be part of the binary translated from hazard:#'this is who i am and who i will ever be'. accepting your role.#but also on a more meta sort of way with the games themselves. the female mcs getting more focus than the male mcs-#-in a time period where most video game mcs were male and the female characters were one-note is something noteworthy to me.#the fact that nebula is CONSISTENTLY framed bigger/more prominently in almost every piece of official art we see.#her name is first in the title. naq was conceptualized as a concept with her only first. shes always also featured in ads alongside quasar.#the only ad that features quasar prominently is the jumparound ad which alludes to it possibly being a request from sony #-and thus would want to play it more 'mainstream'.#by itself this doesnt stand out bc it could always be just the creators wanting some hashtag women in their unfiction series #which i would be fine with if that was the case. we love women. HOWEVER #its the fact that naq2 (from what we know so far) ACTIVELY TRIES TO BACKPEDAL ON THIS. which makes me think its INTENTIONAL.#both nova and nebula have seemingly been sidelined in naq2 with their screentimes reduced. nova reduced to a 'supporting character' and -#nebula into a possibly offscreen kidnappee. QUASAR takes their spotlights in naq2.#...maybe a way of 'making back lost sales' from naq1? pivoting too hard into the stereotypical from the unusual...#because obviously thats whats scaring away your customers. not the white room scandal. totally not.#'..ok is this leading up to anything mara. whats your conclusion statement' idunno man.#i just think its an interesting tidbit that keeps popping up. i am not a coherent theory guy #i am a pointing out things and throwing them at the wall to see what sticks guy.#there is also the very real chance that im completely wrong abt naq2 bc we still dont know a lot about it sooo. shrug.

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bg3smash-or-pass · 5 months ago

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In response to the recent (unpublished) anon I received:

(I won’t be answering the asks directly, to condense my response into one post)

Having now read Khalid’s Baldur’s Gate and Forgotten Realms wiki entries, I think it’s actually really neat that Khalid was deliberately given an explicit stutter and it isn’t just a shorthand to convey his timidness like I assumed it was, being a game from 1998.

But also.. Khalid is still anxious. That’s not just a “horrid ableist assumption,” that’s how his character is written. Many companions in Baldur’s Gate I are described as viewing him as “cowardly”. His whole character seems to be that classic idea of, yknow, bravery not being the absence of fear but doing everything heroic in spite of it.

I’m sorry you’ve seen enough bullshit ableism surrounding Khalid that your knee-jerk reaction to someone saying he sounds anxious is to feel that they are making fun of his disability and saying he’s cowardly and incompetent.

But coming into my ask box, insinuating I am making fun of his disability to make “myself feel superior”, asking if I ever get tired of “finding new lows to stoop to”, and demanding I take my post out of Khalid’s tag so you “don’t have to be forced to see how lowly I think of him” is just. Not it.

#ask #anon #commentary #I learned so many fun things in Khalid’s wikis though #did yall know he made the Khalid’s Gift amulet himself?#from spider silk and aquamarine #that the player character in Seige of Dragonspear helps him acquire #also jaheira thinks he has a great ass #and the fact he hasn’t been turned cold by the world is one of his most admirable features #I know she says that second one in bg3 but still #I haven’t um #still haven’t played act 3 #and the fact he has a stutter and it’s not just a symptom of his anxiety is really neat #this anon made me read multiple wiki entries for Khalid through completely #and tbh I do have a bigger fondness for him now #sorry I questioned Jaheira for liking you sir 😔#it’s what’s on the inside that counts as always #and also apparently a fantastic ass #still wild to me that this person saw me say in the tags of the Khalid post ‘I don’t think this man is hot’#‘he sounds like if wyll (traditional generic hero type) had anxiety’ and ‘if volo was competent but still had the same vocabulary’#and went ‘OP is mocking Khalid’s disability purposefully and thinks he is cowardly and incompetent’#like I am nervous to go into Khalid’s tag now if the ableism is truly that rampant that that’s somebody’s first reaction

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loveydive · 3 months ago

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okay. finished veilguard. um. it sure was definitely a game.

#cri.txt #like you cant argue that it isnt a game thats for sure #mor srsly tho ermmm #its just okay #in terms of being a dragon age game... it is BAD #in terms of it being a regular game. its like. okay.#there were a lot more qol features in this game esp after inquisition which i think is great #personally inquis was like barely playable gameplay wise #writing wise... the game peaked at the seige of weissaupht. i liked the cage for the gods sequence. that was very cool.#i liked the last gambit and how depending on ur relationship with ur comoanions they can die on the missions you dole out #which is interesting and fun to me. ibcluding the bosses being the companion quests bosses if u dont finish them #i do think having so many companion deaths in the last quest is probably not great for subsequent games . ? but whatever ig #companions themselves are kinda uninteresting to me . ? like this is easily the worst batch. the only true standouts were like davrin and #maybeeeee bellara?#lucanis was especially disappointing actually. i was hoping theyd do more with the. abomination stuff but it was just nothing in the end #spite couldve easily just not been in the game #also he pissed me tf awfff #two shots at ghilanain and he misses both like. YOU HAD ONE JOB AND YOU CANT DO IT RIGHT. STAND UP MAN #couldnt even kill the venator war commander #teia had to do it for him. URGH USELESS #but yeah the idea of a non mage abomination defo couldve been interesting #taash's writing... well its already been talked to death so whatever #ive always been a story >> gameplay person so the fact that the writing dropped in quality this badly is such a shame #all the different types of endings are essentially the same. the only thing that is changed is how solas is handled. and some of them are s #ooc for him its ridiculous #oh and the secret ending at the ending was also so bad. introducing a cliche council of vague evilness that is implied to have controlled #everything from the start? snooze fest #its so bad. it ruins the complexity of loghains character. boils down the complex political tensions in da2. and so on #like its just so aggravating seeing da devolve into this #UURRGGGHHH CAN WE PLASE GO BACK TO CHARACTER AND POLITICAL BASED STORYTELLING PLEASEEE PLSPSLPSLPLSPLSSS

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killjoy-prince · 8 months ago

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Ray's After Ending is so funny because for a good chunk of it, most of the RFA members are knocked out by V's sleeping gas (Saeran is immune, Saeyoung isn't present bc he was kidnapped by his agency under his father's orders and MC wakes up in like an hour) but the game has a call feature where you can call the characters and it would be a waste if you couldn't use it bc the characters were unavailable so instead they have other people pick up the call (Jumin's driver picks up Jumin's phone, Jumin's father picks up Zen's phone, Yoosung's friends and mom pick up Yoosung's phone and Jaehee's coworkers pick up Jaehee's phone) and we do get to learn about the characters from outsider's point of view but it's so funny to me that these people are visiting their loved ones and suddenly the phone rings and they decide to just. answer it. and start talking to this stranger they've never met

#prince's talk tag #maybe its not actually weird people just pick up their loved one's phone call for them but i personally wouldn't #i cant stop thinking about how its Jumin's father that uses Zen's phone like Chief Han what were you doing in Zen's room??#i know they needed to assign somw character to Zen and he's not on speaking terms with his family #but I would of thought Chief Han would go to Jumin and the driver could go to Zen #does this mean something? am i thinking too hard about this?#also rip yoosung his friends and mom lowkey kinda dragging him in their call with you #and with the friends since one of them is a girl one of the options is like 'A girl?!?! are you dating??' and shes like 'no lolol'#'he's nice but i dont see him like that'#the main thing that made me make this post was thinking about Yoosung's mom saying how Jumin calls her sometimes and sends her holiday gift #like!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! idk man that just plays on a loop in my head #i know thats like a very professional thing to do. Jumin was raised to please people in a business capacity #and the he cares about the RFA so yea it makes sense. im sure he has gifts sent out to companies his works with #and I'm sure if the other members had a good relationship with their parents hed do the same with them #but in the RFA Yoosung and I guess V are the only ones with parents they talk to #idk if he sends a gift to V's father tho bc we never talk to him #but man. while i know hed do it with the other members if he could just the fact he does it with Yoosung is sweet #and it makes the part in Seven's route where he calls Yoosung's mom about her son's dilemma make sense to me bc they do talk once in a whil #so its not too out of the blue when he does it i guess #but man can we talk about how awesome Jaehee is? bc her coworker that picks up her phone spends every call gushing about her #like we knew she's great at her job but man hearing her coworker talk about her fills me with such love and admiration #and she's apparently really loved by the other assistants too like they all gush about her #jaehee is the best character in the game im not joking around #they wanna get close to her but bc she's their boss it's hard T_T #and the one that picks up the phone wishes Jaehee knows she was the one that stood with her overnight when she wakes #Yuni (the assistant you're talking to) says she would of quit the job had it not been for her #LIKE!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!!#it was a nice way to use the call feature during the first two days of the characters not being awake to answer #and even though this is supposed to be the last thing you play before completing the whole game #you still learn something new about the characters you've known since day 1

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astranauticus · 1 year ago

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my personal pet theory about Aulus (working on the. quite warranted assumption that he is, in fact, Thorns' mentor, something that feels so true in my head i kind of forgot it was never actually confirmed in game lol) is that he skews more on the Cicero end of church of the deep bishop motivations but rather than trying to create a 'better' version of humanity, Aulus is trying to create a sort of best of both worlds intermediate between humans and seaborn that have access to the seaborne hivemind but can still retain individual human agency. let me explain

the idea of choice is present in almost everything Aulus says, both in Thorns' IS3 monthly squad and in hortus de escapisimo. as mentor to Thorns, the main thing Aulus taught him was the importance of making his own decisions, which honestly seems pretty contradictory to the nature of We Many as a hivemind where the self can be sacrificed for the good of the collective

in hortus de escapisimo, both Stephano and Arturia also comment on this as being Aulus' main motivation, with Arturia not fully buying his whole individual agency thing since she sees people's choices as being strung along by their emotions and desires

when Aulus asks Stephano if he's sure he wants to go forward with the plan to midnight mass feed seaborn to the abbey residents (and implies he thinks he's under the influence of Arturia's arts), Stephano thinks it's out of character for Aulus to question others' choices and resolve

similarly, he also planned on persuading Hyman against becoming a seaborn because he thought her judgement was clouded, which, again, doesn't seem very church of the deep bishop of him

but if independent choice and agency is so important to Aulus, why side with the seaborne? honestly i'm not 100% on this part, but my guess is that he's after the seaborn hivemind

considering the fact that Aulus also studied at the sanctilaminium ambrosi, a lateran monastery, it doesn't feel particularly far-fetched to me that an Iberian Aegir who has personally witnessed the Sankta's empathy would be interested in trying to achieve something similar on a wider scale in an attempt to bring about greater mutual understanding between individuals. in that sense, his focus on individual agency can be seen as more of a defense mechanism against being assimilated by the seaborn while he tries to take advantage of their most useful feature.

also, we have already seen him succeed in this goal. In hortus de escapisimo, Hyman spares her children despite her hunger, in spite of the collective's drive to survive, because she recognises them as her children. in the IS3 timeline, Aulus himself is implied to be something like this as well, having fully transformed into a seaborn but still being able to hold a conversation with Thorns as an individual where he once again encourages him to make his own choices.

and, similarly to Hyman, Aulus' teachings do manage to reach Thorns in the IS3 storyline (although, ironically, his individual resolve is more focused on hurting the collective after joining them)

again, this is all just speculation (lord knows when we're getting the next installment in the seaborn storyline) but since all the church of the deep bishops have gotten their own little moments of explaining what they think they're getting out of the job, this is just my personal guess at what Aulus' end goal is as our newly introduced bishop

#arknights #i should make a metas tag at this rate lol #this is just how im making up for not drawing much these days because i have like 5657213 other things im working on #(pretty ironic) fun fact but i had my msr playlist on shuffle while writing this which means #i wrote most of this post while listening to the is3/under tides soundtrack KDSJKSDJFHKDJH #also i did. in fact. make the freudian slip of typoing hyman as human at one point. really not sure if thats a bug or a feature #i actually have a bunch of in game screenshots i couldnt find a logical point to insert which #like thats kinda the main thing for me in terms of like. oh of course aulus is thorns mentor like #moreso than the iberian sword technique or referencing an old student just #the characterisation between thorns mentor in his is3 lore and aulus in hde is so consistent its like yeah of course this is the same guy #this whole post has a very thats just a theory a game theory energy but ive just been thinking about this slimy man for so long #i cant like. not write something about it. so here we are #like i wouldnt even mind being proven wrong by the game bc that at least means we're getting more iberia lore KDJSFHKSJH

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cursingtoji · 5 months ago

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summary: clan leader!gojo needs a favor from your clan but as the leader you refuse, so he proposes to give you a child since your husband is unable to.

"and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?"

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…then i’ll kill your husband myself and marry you.”

nsfw ahead cw: historical au, infidelity, pregnancy, creampie, child birth, satoru is pathetically in love. featuring samurai bodyguard geto and toji.

“i thought we had solved all our business with the gojo clan” your husband says from the door he leans on.

“and i did” you emphasize the i since the head of your clan is you and only you went to the clan meetings that got things solved. you tapped your lips a little bit more to place the reddish pigment looking at the mirror, “but satoru summoned this meeting and gave no details.”

“satoru huh?” your husband points, not letting go unnoticed the fact you used his first name without formalities.

“all right” you take one step back checking if your kimono is proper, “see you tonight” you peck his lips lightly to not ruin the tint on yours and proceed to the carriage outside.

for years the gojo clan and yours avoided each other due to some very old beef that no one remembers or even was alive when it happened, so when your mother passed and you assumed as the new head you soon decided to reach out to make peace with the current head of the rival clan and a friendly relationship was restored. more often than not you two met, sometimes with other clan members or even other clans when necessary, but today gojo insisted on being just the two of you.

toji, your bodyguard, opens the carriage door when you arrive and give you his hand for you to step out.

to avoid any issues the place of the meeting was always the temple middle way your residences. from time to time your families attended the prayers there, that’s when your husband saw satoru for the first time.

“where’s his wife?” he asked the first time you pointed the white-haired man as the clan head after you made peace.

“he doesn’t have one.”

“fiancée then?”

“i don’t think so” you both watched discreetly as he greeted the monks.

“i find that quite odd. what about the black-haired man?” he pointed to geto, gojo’s bodyguard, “could they be involved romantically?” geto leaned to whisper something to his master, a little bit too close if you might add, a few more inches and his lips would be touching satoru’s ear. his romantic life was no business of yours but you didn’t like the idea of him having any partners, didn’t seem right, though deep down you knew it was very unlikely for a handsome man like him to be alone. both men somehow found your curious gaze.

“geto” you greet the known bodyguard as you enter the temple, and he bows to you, your bodyguard nods at him as well and you’re guided to the secret room.

the conversation went on for almost an hour, satoru served you tea when he noticed you finished yours, which was unusual for a clan head to do such a mundane task but he always insisted no servant join on your private meetings. you always thought he was particularly paranoid about spies, but that suspicion was dismissed when you had your first meeting with other clan heads and he didn’t oppose the people that stayed in the back of the room waiting for their master’s orders.

“satoru we went over this on the last meeting, why am i here?” you are getting impatient, satoru always seemed relaxed when he was at the temple like it’s the one place people don’t come to him with problems, so he tended to do things without any rush at all.

“so impatient…” he smirks, “i was getting to the point but fine. i need your doctors for a few weeks.”

because of the many wars and the necessity to heal mainly the samurai your clan became specialized in healing techniques and remedies instead of combat.

“is someone injured?” you raised your eyebrow, it wasn’t likely for satoru to ask for something like this when he could’ve sent a letter.

“no. but we are expecting a conflict soon and—”

“let me stop you there satoru” you raised your hand and for a second you saw a glimpse of annoyance cross his features, “we don’t get involved with battles anymore, the healers go through extensive training and i can’t risk losing them in battle.”

“so instead of putting their knowledge into practice you rather keep them locked in a room reading books?”

“they are busy with research at the moment” you raise your chin unwilling to budge on the matter.

“is that so?” he tilted his head smiling “and how many people does it take to figure out your husband is infertile?”

you widened your eyes, this is way too personal of a matter for someone else, especially another clan head, to know.

on the other side of the door, geto and toji guarded the room, they were close enough to listen to the conversation and without turning his head geto looked at toji with his eyebrow raised, to which toji only nodded confirming the rumors.

“you’re not the only one with little birds across territories, sweetheart” his smile only seems to grow.

“that is no business of yours. besides, lending you my healers will only harm my clan and, as i said, put them at unnecessary risk” you managed to find your composure back and avoid the infertility topic.

“don’t you trust i have the best warriors? you seemed to when we came to your aid” he reminded a time you asked for their men.

“i paid for that.”

“and what makes you think i won’t?”

“we don’t need money.”

“i’m not talking about money” he drops the volume of his voice.

“listen, satoru—” you rise to your feet sensing the tone of this conversation is off.

“i’m listening, for a very long time i’ve been listening” he rises as well and takes a few steps in your direction, “you know what i listen to? the rumors about your family threatening to make your brother head of the clan if you don’t bear an heir soon.”

you take a step back.

“or the resources you’ve been spending to research a treatment for your husband. tell me, darling, can he even get it up for you?” he is too close now, you can see all the details of his insanely blue eyes.

“he— that’s not a problem” you accidentally confess.

“of course it’s not, look at you” his finger brushes your cheek and the touch makes you burn under your skin, “i could give you a child” he lowers his head to your ear, running his lips on it, “a healthy, smart, beautiful child” he presses his hand on your belly over the thick material of your clothes, “and it wouldn’t even be an effort” he presses his hardened member on your hip.

“and what am i to do when the child comes out with a white head of hair and blue eyes?” you look into his eyes challenging him to a solution.

“if that happens…” he undoes the knot that holds your kimono together and pushes the material down your arms with no resistance from you, “…i’ll kill him myself and take his place as your husband.”

you gasp, not expecting such an answer from the man you always watched trying to find a way to avoid violence.

satoru kisses your jaw then your cheek and when he gets close to your lips you turn your head, your conscience only now, in this intimate act, attacking you.

“he’s not fulfilling his duty” he whispers, letting go of the knot on his kimono, taking your hand and putting it on his chest. you open your eyes, not even aware you had closed them, and see his sculpted torso, so close to you, so warm…

“it’s not your fault, can’t you see?” he raises your chin, “it wasn’t meant to be, unlike us” you know he’s just telling you what you want to hear, but in his voice everything made sense.

“you’ll see” he picks you up and lowers his body with you back to the mat in the middle of the room, his kimono is still around his arms while yours was forgotten somewhere else, leaving only the very thin, dress-like, white undergarment that pretty much showed everything.

satoru lowers his head to your chest, his tongue wetting your nipple over the material, “i bet you’ll become even prettier” he replaces your breast with his hand, big and hot, and goes to the other nipple, “with your breasts heavy and a big belly” he sucks on you, hardly, you put your hand over your mouth.

satoru raises your legs over his shoulders, “your feet will get tired” he kisses the inner thigh, “but you’ll still come and see me” you thought it sounded like a question, it was a statement.

his head goes down, as he kisses your folds your back arches, he licks a stripe ending on your clit and flickering it.

satoru starts to lose himself, he gets too intoxicated by you, almost forgetting time is running against him here. he doesn’t have much longer until your bodyguard gets suspicious and calls for you, and by the way your hand is tight against your mouth he doubts you’ll be able to give a proper response.

he wants to make you cum before he shoots his load, suguru’s intel told him you asked one of the doctors if the woman needed to come to increase the chances. it doesn’t take much medical knowledge to interpret that question.

you cum on his tongue pulling him out of his dreams where he imagined himself doing that every night after those boring fucking meetings he has to attend at every slight inconvenience in his clan.

“it’s gonna be okay, just relax for me” he pushes his length slowly before you get the chance to see his size. you whisper his name behind your hand and he can’t stand not seeing your whole face, so he takes your hand out of the way and kisses your wet lips pushing his tongue and swallowing your moans as he goes deeper and starts to pick a pace.

satoru holds back a curse, reminding himself he’s in a sacred place and although anyone would say that’s ironic given what you’re doing in the temple he would argue that’s even more sacred than what most people prayed for.

you start to feel his weight down on you as he trusts get sloppier, he’s still kissing you, holding your lips with his when he twitches and fills your insides, in your drunk mind you think it’s so much more than what you’re used to.

after he catches his breath he pushes himself up and out of you, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a brief moment but you open them wide again when satoru pushes his cum back into you with his finger, “keep it deep and warm for me, yes?”

one hour later you pass through the door your bodyguard slides open for you to enter your chambers. on the way there you realized there’s no chance he and geto didn’t grasp on what was happening inside the room.

“toji?” you call before he can close the door and go to his personal room, he stops, indicating he listens although he doesn’t respond with the formality others usually do, “i trust you won’t share with anyone what happened today” you speak firmly looking the tall man behind you over your shoulder, his scar stretches slightly with his smirk, the man bows and closes the door.

they said it was a road accident, the horse got spooked and ran, by the time they found it there was no rider so they searched your husband and found his body down the mountain.

the ritual was long, you wore the traditional widow clothing, accepting the kind words of the clan members and the prayer of the monks. though you really were sad, all this pity was making you sicker than…

“at least you didn’t have kids, no child deserves to grow up with a dead father” an old lady says to comfort you while holding your hands.

“excuse me” you turn around walking slowly to not raise suspicions and as soon as it is just you on the other side of your home you bend your torso and throw up all you’ve eaten before the funeral.

you cough and when a tissue enters your field of vision you immediately take it and clean your mouth.

you feel your stomach empty but the light volume below it reminds you of whose fault it is.

you raise with the tissue on your lips to say thank you and the sight of the white-haired man makes you choke.

“shh, it’s okay, i’m here as an ally, to give my condolences to a friend in grief” there’s absolutely no seriousness in his tone.

“what about the war?” you ask through heavy breathing.

“that was child’s play, don’t worry, your healers will return safe and sound in a few days” he puts his hand on your shoulder to calm you down, you do.

satoru takes a second to drop his sight to your belly, it has been a month since your last encounter, and by your sensitive stomach he knows that one time was enough for you to get pregnant.

“do you think you can hide it for another month until the wedding? then when the child is born we’ll just say it was a premature birth” god, your former husband’s body was barely cold and gojo is already planning the wedding and what to say about the baby.

“why now?” you look up at his mischievous eyes, he knows what you’re asking truly.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, it was an accident right?” he touches your face, brushing away a tear that came out, more of a natural body reaction of your gagging than a sadness reaction.

“satoru, tell me” you demanded.

“i just reflect a little you know? when i said i would kill him you never asked me not to. besides, i don’t want another man to think they own what’s mine” his eyes are darker, you think he’s talking about the child in your womb but by the intensity of his gaze, you realize he’s talking about you. “if you need anything tell suguru, i’ll have him staying in the village until we announce the wedding.”

“no, i have toji, don’t want anyone suspecting geto’s intentions” you defend.

gojo doesn’t seem to like it, but he doesn’t argue either, “either way, i want to see you. meet me at the temple in five days, we’ll talk about the arrangements” he leans in and kisses your forehead before turning away and then back “i almost forgot” he reaches for something inside his sleeve and pulls out a shiny golden bracelet with gems and puts it on your palm, you know you can’t wear it now but god it’s gorgeous, “came from the west especially for you” he puts his hand on top of yours and leaves it there for a long moment as you look into each other's eyes. satoru is fighting the urge to kiss you, if someone catches you he can’t say he’s comforting his recently widowed friend, so he forces himself to let go of you and go head back to his village.

the midwife instructs you to push harder as her helper dabs a wet cloth on your forehead. you’re squatting, on your knees giving your all to push the baby out.

finally one last push is all that it takes for the little one to come out, you want to lay down and close your eyes, but you need to see the baby first so you mumble something with your arms open, the midwife cleans baby’s face through crying and screaming.

“it’s a boy” she whispers putting him in your arms. satoru enters when he hears the cries and kneels in front of you. behind him are both suguru and toji, who aren’t allowed to enter but the men are also very eager to see the child they can’t help but try to peek.

you balance the boy in your hold for a little bit till he stops crying and when he opens his eyes you see the blue sky.

“give him to the father, we’re not over” the midwife says.

“what?” you, satoru, toji and suguru ask. the last two get an angry look from the midwife and remove themselves from the scene.

“the next one will come out soon” she puts new towels below you.

“two children? at once?” you ask in disbelief then look at satoru who can only smile apologetically.

after god knows how long you’re finally allowed to rest as the babies were cleaned and fed. the second one was a girl, with identical blue eyes as her brother and father.

“i can’t believe you put two kids in me” satoru is outside the wooden tub, breaking all tradition by helping you bathe after the birth.

“can’t say i’m sorry for that” he rubs your shoulders, “you were incredible” he confesses now that there’s only the two of you. satoru refuses to even let your feet touch the floor, he takes you out of the tub once the water starts to cool down, placing you on a dry surface and getting on his knees to dry your feet, you reach out to touch his face.

“i love you, satoru” you blurt, overwhelmed by your feelings for the man who was once your rival.

he looks up from his position, taking the hand on his face and kissing your palm, then your pulse, he kisses inch by inch of your arm until his lips are on yours, “i love you.”

"pay up, pretty boy" toji approaches geto.

"excuse me?" suguru looks up from the sword he's polishing now that gojo dismissed him for the rest of the night.

"i said it was gonna be a boy."

"yeah and then a girl came out right after so the bet was invalidated."

"there's no such a thing, the boy will inherit it all anyway" toji crosses his arms, geto laughs, fishing a coin from his pocket since he knows toji will say anything to win the bet.

"and what makes you say that? there's two clans and now two heirs" toji snatches the coin as soon as he sees the silver glow.

"that's just how it has ever been" he turns his back to geto who drives his attention back to his sword.

"things are changing old man.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x you

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