#headcanon break down

[mamasplat]

It’s a big day for kalos fans, let me ship post as a treat.

I love that pokemon masters keeps hinting and showing a glimpse past calems stoics, showing that he seems to have a thing for serena, which I cannot blame him- she is the human equivalent of a chantilly cake; a soft fluffy balance between sweet and fresh, elegant and sugary. She’s good at what she does and he respects her a lot for it even if he’s prone to self sabotage trying to get on her level (parental issues being raised by tournament veterans)

And it’s not just these moments, this dynamic is deeply embedded into their rivalry and shows in every iteration of their existence. The manga, the games, masters, and maybe even the legends Z game counterparts we will see next year-

in the manga Y (Serena’s counterpart) is the only member of their friend group who didn’t give up on X (Calem’s counterpart) when he shut himself away in a depressive episode, she tried to talk to him everyday, brought him food, and even in her frustration never gave up on him; and ultimately it’s her stubborn support that brings him back out of his shell in the end. In the games they’re bond is so dorky and precious- they tease each other, they bicker, they banter, they’re rivals through and through, but ultimately it boils down to one truth; they are both recklessly protective over one another in the face of team flare, and rivalry turns to teamwork, and they couldn’t have done it without each other.

There’s such a heavy emphasis on the mutual respect they hold, both wanting to better themselves for each other even though the other thinks of them so highly. Calem would utterly worship her if he weren’t so spooked by his own vulnerability, they both have struggles, but they both have a patient understanding of balance to work.

They balance each other. Cheerfully angelic and stoic aloofness, yet they understand each other wordlessly, work with muscle memory coordination, feel each other’s feelings. Much like life and death, happiness is found in balance.

If only they weren’t so oblivious to the way they treat each other like a romance novel.

[nightthinker-08]

I couldn't sleep so I drew some Pomnies shes surprisingly fun to draw lol Oh and some doomed yuri too I guess xD buttonblossom is cute n all but calling them doomed yuri or digital yuri is a lot funnier to me

[zepskies]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdFgGL1y/

I’ve been loving this trend and then realised this could literally bmd Ben and reader asking him to show how he would’ve moved to her in the 80s and even better cause he literally experienced it, I can see him being unwilling to entertain but slowly caving in when he sees she’s not breaking and giving him attention until he tries

LOL that's adorable. 😂 Thanks for thinking of Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader)! Seems to be a theme this week lol! I went ahead and watched that TikTok and again it got me imaging the thing...

Imagine Soldier Boy (Ben) "Sliding Up" to You in the Club

I can imagine that coming up in conversation if the reader in BMD was being subjected to watching another one of his music videos. She'd be teasing him, of course, but he'd be defending himself and his career choices. It was the 80s!

And for your information, Ben says, women were fucking falling over themselves to have him sign their Rapture albums. It was frankly irritating when he went out. Sometimes, he just wanted to relax with a smoke and a glass of bourbon at the club. You scoff at that one.

He looks amused. "What, you think you would've been the only girl in America who didn't cream their panties when I showed up?"

You shoot him a wry brow raise. Do you have to remind him how you two met? Being tied to a chair with zip ties comes to mind.

But then, something else occurs to you. The first time you and Ben actually met was in a smokey club in Medellin, Colombia. You'd been "undercover" then, and though you hadn't danced with him, it makes you think...

"Okay, let's say we're at the club," you pose, with a sly smile. "It's 1983..."

You find the song "Too Shy" on your phone; quintessential 80s pop. The smooth riffs start playing. You get up to start vibing near him in the comfort of your living room. You're just swaying side to side with a little sensuous, playful bounce to your step, your hand movements simple.

Ben doesn't want to smile, but you're making it difficult as he lounges half across the couch.

"Come on. How would you slide up on me?" you taunt.

He arches a brow. "Slide?"

"You know what I mean. What was your move, huh?" you ask, teasing him with the curve of your ass and the sway of your hips in your yoga pants.

You saunter closer to him, beckoning him over to you. All the while you sing to yourself, "Too shy, shyyyy. Hush, hush, eye to eye..."

Ben rolls his eyes, reluctant to rise to your bait. But eventually, your teasing is too much for him to ignore. He pulls himself off the couch and comes up behind you.

He takes your hand while you're purposefully facing away from him, and smoothly turns you around, guiding you back into his arms like he's Fred Astaire. You utter a little gasp and grab onto his shoulders. Your gaze flicks up to his with a smile.

His lips curve as he looks down at you. He matches the vibe of the song as he moves along with you, but then he turns you around, holding you from behind with steady hands sliding down the curve of your waist. His strength is tempered just enough for you to feel it.

He gradually moves closer with every bounce of the beat, and soon every part of his body is molded to yours. Your hands fall over his as you subtly lean back against his chest.

He bows his head near your cheek, smiling, because he can hear your heart beating a little faster. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Gotcha."

AN: Once again, this turned into a little headcanon/imagine that I wasn't expecting. 🤣 Last post before I'm off on a trip all weekend! 💚

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@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

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@deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

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@jc-winchester @mxltifxnd0m @bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats

[maddybthorne]

One of my favorite things in the Harry Potter fandom is how we all *know* Lucius Malfoy is so fucking tired of hearing about Harry Potter.

It (of course) starts when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, the gossip and hero worship (or hatred) he could not escape, he’s a well known public figure he needs to be able to socialize with the general population. It’s fine, he told himself, it will die down in a few years. Then I will be free of Potter.

Then comes his son’s first year. September 1st 1991 he gets a letter from his son. The first words are “Harry Potter refused to be my friend” nothing about the sorting besides a footnote. No he gets five paragraphs detailing his son’s interaction with Potter. It’s fine, he told himself, my son will eventually get over this (he never does). Then I will be free of Potter.

Then Voldemort is resurrected. And all he talks about is Harry Potter. Capturing him, torturing him, killing him. Doesn’t matter what the conversation starts as. It will always turn back to Harry Potter. It’s fine, he tells himself, my lord will eventually kill the boy. Then I will be free of Harry Potter.

The battle of Hogwarts. Harry Potter is dead. Lucius feels a deep sense of relief for the first time in roughly 8 years. His son can’t keep complaining about the boy, the dark lord has succeeded and the general public will surely be banned from speaking of the boy. He’s finally free.

And then. After being hit by a killing curse in front of his eyes. Harry Potter takes off his invisibility cloak and shows everyone he’s alive. And then he wins the war.

And Lucius dies a bit on the inside. Not because his lord is dead. Not because he will probably be locked away in Azkaban.

No. It’s because now more than ever, everyone will be talking about Harry Fucking Potter.

I’d like to believe it drove him to a mental breakdown.

(And then, post war he’s just chilling as a hermit or something, maybe in Azkaban, relieved that he can’t really talk to people so they can’t bring up Harry Potter. And his son walks in and says he wants to introduce his new boyfriend.

And it’s Harry. Fucking. Potter.

He tries to jump out a window.)

[demigods-posts]

headcanon that percy and annabeth hang out at the apartment a lot after the war. and percy is just happy that he's alive, and wants to be around his parents and girlfriend. except, annabeth is avoiding eye contact all weekend. percy eventually summons the courage to confront her about it, asking her if he did something or if she's okay. and she's just breaks down because 'you're just so pretty that i can't look at you'. which actually means that she spent the last four years befriending and falling in love with a boy she was certain was going to leave her like everyone. but he's always come back to her because she's his permanent thing and he's hers. and the idea that someone loves her so much is so overwhelming that looking at him. alive and healthy and happy. is enough to make her cry like she's seven years old.

[walmartbrandwhatever]

Whatever you do don't think about post-book darry accidentally setting out too many plates after a real long day and his mind is just utterly exhausted. Everyone looking at him all confused because they didn't have that many people left and soda having to softly remind him that Johnny and dally weren't alive. Weren't coming back. Darry just softly responding with 'oh..sorry' as he remembers that they weren't coming back.

[harringroveera]

Time traveler Steve is determined to find his boyfriend in every lifetime

[justaz]

merlin being so overwhelmed by everything he’s been put under, crumbling under the weight of destiny and being pulled in so many different directions he’s being torn apart, going to the one person who can offer him the most comfort out of everyone, his best friend, his other half. arthur who doesn’t realize whats happening until he turns and sees merlin’s desolate expression and tear filled eyes. merlin going “i know you are king (or prince) and you refuse to call me your friend, but you are mine and i really, really need my friend right now.” and before arthur can manage a word, merlin is stumbling forward into arthur’s arms and pulling him into a desperate hug, muffling his sobs as best he can but arthur can still feel the tears soaking his shoulder. arthur not asking any questions and just wrapping his arms around merlin while he breaks down.

[spicypepperflakesss]

Y'know what'd be morbidly funny? If another plague hit Vesuvia by the time MC and their chosen RO might have a family and the adults have to stay behind to deal with affairs

But obviously, with all diseases, elderly and children are the most vulnerable

So imagine - almost all the parents are sending their kids away in this scenario. Because Nadia is a great leader who's well-aware of the dangers of this plague

But imagine if your chosen RO is Muriel. Let's say you have kids.

How devastated would this man be if he had to send his kids away for their safety, in the same way that his parents did to him when he was young?

Man, that would be really fun to write

(thank you to that one tumblr post I interacted with a while ago - where OP theorizes about Vesuvia and the red plague. It was rlly fun to read + think about it)

[bugwolfsstuff]

Im headcanoning that Will gets all poetic and spouts out metaphors about how he feels when he's spiralling cause thats what I do (in fact I litterally just did in my notes) and Nico responds to them in a dead tone but have helpful metaphors and they make an entire ass poem as they go back and forth

If you get what I mean

[veliatra]

Durgetash is such a comfort ship, exactly because Gortash knows the monster Durge is and loves them anyway. And it's horrific and bloody and evil to the core.

While it's hard to imagine them tender, do you think he held the blood drenched death bringer, but with a still beating heart when he asked him: "Was I sweet once?"

Do you think they held the unreedemable tyrant, when from a memory that usually brought hate and spite, but now shook them to the core, that made them whisper "I'm scared. I don't want to go back"? Do you think they kissed their bare back, just where their spine dips under their neck?

[mamasplat]

Why do I care so much about deciphering character ages in Pokemon?

Simply put, angst. Or in long terms-

The art of storytelling is not so cut and dry, anyone with basic media literacy knows this. There is so much subtext and unspoken information that rings loudly in the implications of a story, something as simple as the age of an MC will dictate how heavily their experiences will affect them. Using the Gen6 games as examples (XY and Omega Ruby specifically)

By figuring out where to place Calem Serena and Zinnia in age, the story they live through gains added context. They all share the same bracket of 18-19 meaning they are in they’re late late teens and budding into the incoming subconscious weight of young adulthood, the subconscious urge to be stronger and reckless to prove yourself as capable in the real world; while still being young and having so much to learn. They have further motive to get involved in the heavy actions they take and will fall and break down even harder when they fail. Such is the right of growing up.

And for more adult characters, the same still holds true.

Doing the same thing I did with the kalos protags age by calculating off of a canon characters official age (emma) and then taking into account mannerisms dialogue and design; Admin Tabitha from team magma is officially 27, stated by himself. So going off of the work place hierarchy, Leader Maxie with his experience and status should be in his late 40s to maybe early 50s, making him the prime age for an early onset midlife crisis, linking that to his past relationships with Archie and the reasoning for making his team, his clear strong sense of justice even if misplaced, you have a man who can quickly spiral into a rather pitiful sight if pushed too hard in the wrong direction. First he bares his teeth, then he whines. Like a scared dog trying to protect itself and the image he has made for himself.

Meanwhile Courtney who is evidently more experienced than Tabitha is confirmed to have been with the team longer than him, as his paperwork is still seated on her desk, seems to be in her early 20s, I originally assumed she was in her mid 20s but then she released in pokemon masters and I was able to study her behavior more closely, she has this uncanny glimpse of childlike wonder at times that makes me believe she’s maybe younger than Tabitha, that added to the fact Tabitha seems to look out for her with her social struggles, almost taking on a brotherly role it seems.

Her being in her early twenties adds more weight to her codependency on Maxie as well as her reckless devotion, she’s younger and somewhat impressionable, she’s not against violent action to protect her passions.

And because I was able to gather Courtney had more experience while being younger I can come to the conclusion that it’s very possible Courtney was a science prodigy of some sort, as she is known in her field. And seeing she’s been with team magma longer and has evident close bonds with Maxie, it’s even more possible they worked together when she was younger.

Originally that led me to the thought she might have worked in relation to the Devon corporation, but with the art of visual storytelling in Sea Mauville, it’s not insane to assume Archie and Maxie may have worked together with the Mauville Corporation and that’s what makes them so jaded in modern day, a bad work environment being a stepping stone to their fall from grace. By Sea Mauville’s writings alone I don’t see them being against overworking a young teen prodigy. It’s possible maybe leader Maxie knew Courtney from his time there and brought her onto his team when the company went under. (This also means I need to retcon tf out of my in character Courtney blog.)

This also can explain Courtney’s role playing more into a team disciplinary, her time in Sea Mauville so young could’ve taught her to be more aggressive in order to earn her respect and get better outcome from rookie labor, as it’s heavily shown grunts seem to fear Courtney in some respects.

And ALL of this is merely the writing on the wall I can read when I take into account the age of our cast

[dreamingthroughwords]

Sometimes, Xie Lian will sit in the rain.

He’ll go out in their garden, smile softly as he passes by their freshly planted herbs and flowers, and strolls to the edge where he can see everything he and his husband have built together.

Adorned only in his robes, bamboo hat long passed to someone who needed it; who had shown him no kindness yet Xie Lian could not help but give that kindness to someone who had only given him anything but.

The rain soaked through him, drips down his face and wets his hair, and he lets the rain surround him and lets it leave gentle pats against his cheeks as if it was a tender kiss, as he reminisces.

Hua Cheng notices the first time he does this of course, he follows him outside.

He’ll say “You’ll catch a cold, Gege;”, before taking off his outer robe and placing it on Xie Lian’s shoulders, and he’ll sit next to his beloved.

Hua Cheng always waits for Xie Lian to speak first. Knowing him too well, oh so well, better than himself, he knows Xie Lian needs to gather his thoughts; turn them into something that makes sense, that coherently wraps his feelings into words that he may struggle with.

But his husband has all and so much patience for him; he will wait for him no matter how long it takes. That is a fact well known to both of them.

So Hua Cheng simply sits next to his husband, and when he pulls out his umbrella to cover Xie Lian, his husband stops him.

“It’s alright, San Lang, I’ll be fine,” he says, gazing at Hua Cheng with the usual kindness and love his still can’t believe is directed his way.

Xie Lian will then turn his head back to the sky, where Hua Cheng takes in the profile of his beloved as the rain sticks to his skin, takes in his neck that was once shackled now bare, and visions of a bamboo hat flicker in his memory, and Hua Cheng is beginning to understand.

“It feels nice, doesn’t it?” Xie Lian speaks and Hua Cheng knows this is Xie Lian’s way of telling him without needing to be direct. He doesn’t need to be for Hua Cheng to understand his everything. “How cool the rain feels. It’s almost kind, like reaching out to you when you need it. Don’t you think?”

And Hua Cheng has flashes of a life once gone; one that was his and reborn a new as he watched as someone, finally, gave his God the kindness that he so deserved.

Tears of the sky can hold memories and the one held within it today is the one of the hand that had reached out for Xie Lian when no one else did; a nobody in a world of meetings in which are fleeting yet one person took the time to go out of their way to finally, return the kindness to one who had given so much he almost had none left.

“I do,” Hua Cheng whispers as Xie Lian smiles at him when he knows his husband understands him, and for the rest of the day they simply sit with the other as they think back on all that’s happened and how they finally, are back within each others reach, will be forever and eternally.

Each time it rains, together, they will join the other as raindrops coat their skin. Never forgetting, and always remembering, but now, never alone, and forever grateful for those who they crossed paths with who even showed one shred of kindness. Because sometimes it really is only one person, that can change everything.

[zepskies]

Heyo! So not sure how youd even write this from a story perspective— maybe headcanons r easier idk— but! What would Current SB/Ben say to his younger self (your choice on age) about his future? Whether it be from an introspective place, him talking fondly about his future family, etc — all you boo👍 Hope youre doing well!

Hey there! Thanks, I'm doing well and hope you are too!

Strictly speaking on story/fic requests, I'm only doing full fic requests on my Patreon, but occasionally I'll be able to do a short imagine/HC when something strikes me. For example, you pose a really interesting question. I think the answer would depend on Soldier Boy/Ben's level of growth/character development.

Like, if we're talking about Break Me Down version of Ben, for example, I've actually thought about this a bit before! If he had the opportunity to talk to his younger self, let's say in the 80s (shortly before Nicaragua):

What (BMD) Soldier Boy/Ben Would Say to His Younger Self

"You just think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" Ben says, crossing his arms at his younger counterpart.

"What? I'm at the top of my game?" Soldier Boy says. He smokes a joint, blowing up smoke casually and arrogantly.

Ben chuckles. "That's what you think."

Soldier Boy frowns. "The whole fucking world worships me. Whatever I want, I get. Women, picture deals, a fucking statue in front of Vought tower-- Hell, I've got hit after hit record on the top of the charts, for fuck's sake."

Ben just shakes his head. His rueful smile irks the other guy, but not as much as what he says next.

"And you're bored," Ben says. "You've got it all... But nothing's ever good enough, right?"

Soldier Boy's lips purse, but he doesn't have an answer. Not one he's willing to voice. Ben nods in understanding.

"It's all right. One day you'll find it," he says.

Soldier Boy frowns, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean, find it?"

Ben doesn't want to give away the punchline. This guy hasn't earned it yet. Not the way Ben knows he'll need to. Otherwise, he'll never understand what it all meant. What all those years struggling alone in the dark, and what betrayal, loneliness, and pain were worth.

No, he won't give it all away. But he'll give him this, at least.

"It's the simplest thing in the world," Ben says. "You're gonna meet a woman."

Granted, the way he met you was anything but simple. The way Ben sees it now, though, it is simple.

Soldier Boy's frown fades, his face turning wry. "A woman, huh? Think I've got plenty of those. Any time, any place, any way I want."

"Not this one," Ben says. He can't help a small, reserved smile when he thinks of you. "Matter of fact, she's going to test your last ever-fucking nerve, every day of your life...but you're not gonna be the same."

Ben thinks about the life he's built with you. He thinks about his daughter, Lila, and his son on the way. Ben pictures the house in his mind--Christmases, birthdays, wedding anniversaries, along with missions gone awry, and the fights and arguments that reverberated on those walls. Moments where his temper got the best of him, or your stubbornness made you dig your heels in. All of it is worth it.

"Then one day, you're going to wake up and realize that you've got everything you need," Ben says.

Soldier Boy seems to take that in. He's still skeptical, but maybe secretly interested in the bright future lying in wait behind his older self's eyes, even though he doesn't want to show it.

"Yeah? And then what?" Soldier Boy asks, in a tone that scoffs, but Ben sees that he's serious too, and he's listening. He knows it as well as he knows himself.

Ben levels a pointed finger at him.

"All you need to do, is protect it."

AN: It's like the old Spiderman meme where he's pointing at himself. lol 💚

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(I've paired this down from the old list that seemed to have a lot of people/blogs that are no longer active.)

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@nancymcl @emily-winchester @sl33pylilbunny @chernayawidow @spnfamily-j2

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@sarahgracej @foxyjwls007 @just-levyy @roseblue373 @charmed-asylum

@mrlonelycat @kmc1989 @siampie @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters

@alwaystiredandconfused @mostlymarvelgirl @twinkleinadiamondsky @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess

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@everything-is-all-clear @suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77

@jc-winchester @mxltifxnd0m @bleuatlas

[kurithedweeb]

I know we always talk about Garroth ending up looking exactly like his father, but what about Dante growing up to look eerily like Gene.

When he joins up with Phoenix Drop, he's still young. He's a little on the short side, still a bit too thin from life in the wild and imprisonment, and he's a little anxious and shaky around so many people after having grown unused to living in a village. The smiling faces of the citizens remind you of your old home, of clamoring crowds and standing frozen in the plaza as your brother . . .

Anyway, it's good here. It's easy to fit in. The guards joke around with you and make sure you're healthy. They don't know a thing about dual wielding, but you get plenty of sparring partners out of helping the local baker practice her magick, and you maybe make a friend too. You're not too sure how you feel about the Lord, but she's a kind soul and does her best to make sure you're comfortable here in town, and her kids are great. Babysitting the boys is easily your favorite duty. Yeah, it's good here. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you're doing good.

Then the war comes. The children and non-combatants are sent away. The jovial atmosphere of the guard tower has soured into solemn silence as you make your final preparations. In the morning, you step into the battlefield and you go to war for the first time in your life. You have a horrible feeling in your gut that it won’t be the last.

You, Sir Laurance and Sir Garroth make a good team. It makes you sick. The three of you cross the battlefield at a slow and inevitable pace, cutting down any soldier that dares stray too close, and together you cleave the enemy forces in half, scattering them. The killing comes easy to you. You had hoped that in this peaceful new village, with time, you would become unfamiliar to how easily you were once able to take a life, but right then you’re glad your body never forgot the motions of death. Glad for the blood that stains your hands—how can you be glad?

You can’t remember how long you fought for. Days, weeks? Surely not months, or so you think. Yours is a small force, and though Miss Lucinda is a good healer, she grows tired while the other army’s numbers are replenished time and again. You remember the bags under her eyes as she tipped a potion sip by sip into your mouth the time you were shot through the face.

You remember sneaking into the enemy camp in the dead of night, skirting around the edges of it to the back line where the archers rested. You quietly slit five of their throats before you were noticed, and managed to slash another across the belly before the arrow caught you in the side of the face, in one cheek and out the other. The wood of the shaft cracked when you bit down. It was everything you could do not to scream as you fled. Dale thought you were a fiend when you first stepped out of the shadows, face obscured in blood and cradling your jaw as you cupped a hand beneath your mouth in an effort to catch more blood before it left a trail. Laurance held you while Garroth split the arrowhead from the rest of it with a knife and pulled the shaft out the other side of your face, your jaw gripped tight in one hand to keep you from struggling. It took hours to pull the splinters from your cheeks and tongue before they sent you to wake the healer. The whole ordeal had been excruciating. You might have cried. You remember that a lot more clearly than most other times at war. After a while, it’s hard to tell which side spills more blood when so much is shed that red squishes out of the earth wherever you step.

Every day, you fought dawn to dusk. And then one day you won. By Nicole literally knocking some sense into her father, of all things! You find a quiet corner to throw up in and for a beautiful moment, you think life in this little town you’ve started thinking of as home will go back to being good. Until your Lord tells you to guard the village as she races past the gates, and she doesn’t come back. None who followed her do either.

For days, you stand waiting at the gates. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. O’khasis is gone, Scaleswind has made a refuge of the plaza, and still there is no sign of your Lord or your brothers-in-arms. You won’t even leave to have your wounds seen to. Nicole has to drag a doctor to the gates to treat you, and the entire time you watch the forest hoping that any moment they will reappear. You only step away when someone brings you news that the ship that took the children away has returned. You should be the one to tell them.

Zoey knows something is wrong the moment she sees you. Levin and Malachi smile and ask where their mother is—they call you ‘uncle’ while they do. You get down on your knees before them, and you gather them close in your arms, and you cry as you tell them their mother has been missing since the day the war ended. You’re still holding them when the exhaustion catches up with you.

Zoey is with you when you wake. She tells you you’ve been out nearly two days. She fusses over you, and you know you’ve worried her because that’s what she does when she’s worried. You’re a mess anyway, so you let her fuss. You drink the broth she makes you, you change into the clothes she provides, you sit still while she cuts the unruly mats of your hair and shaves your face. You used to cut yourself shaving all the time, no one ever taught you how and you were only six or so when Gene was learning to; you don’t remember now how he showed you each step or the laugh in his voice at the face of disgust you made when you slapped a little hand into the lather on his face and left behind a tiny palmprint. Zoey doesn’t cut you once. When she’s done with you, she takes you by the arm and guides you back into civilization, where everyone who remained has decided already on search parties to go out looking for your missing friends.

You head each expedition. Dale brings himself out of retirement to watch over the town while you’re gone, and asks only that you also look for his son. Does he know you used to be a tracker, used to spend days in the woods trailing coyotes and runaways for enough coin to carry you through the cold months? You try for him, but the ground is soft still and every step anyone takes leaves a print, all overlapping and muddled. You keep an eye out as you circle the same stretches of woods for days, but you find nothing. Your group goes further and faster than any other, the first to find and dismantle bandit camps and dens of fiends, but no matter how far you go you find not a sign of anyone who has disappeared that day. It’s as though they vanished into thin air. Every time you return home, Dale looks at you with hopeful eyes, and every time you must take him aside and break his heart a little more. Eventually, he stops asking.

For a year, you search. The area has never been safer. You have never felt so alone as when people start to suggest that a funeral may be in order.

You feel like a monster for the rage in your voice when you denounce these people. You know they aren’t dead—you would have felt such a thing, you know, you would have felt pieces of yourself snapping like wire pulled too taut, you would have felt the sharp edges tangling inside you—it would have felt like it did when the brother you killed rose from the grave to slit your throat and cut your very existence from the memory of Boboros. You hear white noise rumbling in your ears when the first brave soul says Sir Dante, there’s been no sign for a year now, and your blood is boiling when you slap their comforting hand off your shoulder. You spit that you’re not giving up just because everyone else has taken no evidence of life to mean the surety of death, and with their pitying looks burning into your back to return to the woods. You scream into the trees until you can’t anymore. When it doesn’t help, you use your considerable tracking skills to hunt something, anything, until you feel human again.

You crawl back home the day before the funeral with your cape stained with blood; they held it back so you could attend. You polish your armor and swords until they shine, and the warped reflection of your own face makes you feel sick the way waging war did. You stand at attention the entire ceremony without moving a muscle. When Dale reads the names of the deceased at the end, offering their souls into the embrace of the Matron, you salute, and the clatter of your armor silences the crowd.

Everyone who fought in the war salutes with you. So do your Lord’s sons. You’re too tired to cry. You hold your salute long after everyone else has left.

The remaining forces of Scaleswind return home. One by one, family by family, the streets of your home empty. Without your Lord, without your guard, the citizens trickle out the front gates and never turn back. Some apologize to you as they say their goodbyes, and some of them you actually believe. You close the gate behind each of them until all that remains is you, Zoey, and your Lord’s sons. Then Zoey tells you she’s taking the boys to the Yggdrasil Forest. She holds you tight for too long and kisses your brow when you show them to the gate for the last time.

You can’t believe you ever thought you knew what loneliness was before this.

For five years, you are completely and utterly alone. You search and you patrol and you do your best to maintain the village. You don’t believe in Irene, but every day before dawn you stand before her statue and look down down down over the cliff’s edge and pray that this won’t be the rest of your life. That you haven’t deluded yourself into believing a fantasy, that you haven’t made such an incredible fool of yourself that people can’t bear to be around you, that you haven’t been forgotten. For five years, you pray that someone, somewhere, remembers that you exist. You look down down down over the cliff’s edge and have the terrible thought that you don’t know what you’d do if you were forgotten again.

The gate is falling apart. You don’t know how to repair the damage the weather’s done to it, you tried to patch the cracks but it never holds. With each year, you’ve been pushed further and further outtowards the coast. The only places you have the energy to maintain anymore are the guard tower and your Lord’s home. You blockaded the gates when the mechanism broke, you check it on occasion to be sure no bandits get in, and one day you hear voices from the other side. Familiar voices. You scramble up the wall and look over the other side at a boy you don’t recognize looking back up at you. He says, Is that Uncle Dante? and you climb down as fast as you can to embrace Malachi.

He’s nearly the age you were when you first met his mother. He’s grown tall, and strong enough to carry his brother on his back. Levin is fevered when you first see him, flush and hurting even as he dozes, and Malachi tells you he can’t walk from how bad he hurts. You remember how Zoey fretted over him when he was young, how sometimes he’d scream for seemingly no reason, and once you show them to their mother’s home Malachi refuses to leave his bedside.

You sit with them and ask where Zoey is. Malachi tells you of her obsession, and the relief that you are not alone in the belief that those who disappeared are alive feels like a hint of betrayal. You’re relieved that she’s driving herself into a downward spiral because of what? Because it makes you feel like you were reasonable to fight not to let their souls be put to rest?

You wait for her at the gates deep into the night and take her to her boys when she bursts from the woods, frantic that she’d lost them, and safe if your Lord’s home she holds you so tight your ribs hurt from the force of her grip. After so long, you’re not alone anymore.

You wake before dawn and strap your swords to your back. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe enough to go without your armor. You hike up the steep cliff to the Irene statue. You kneel before her to offer your thanks. You look into the pool at her feet and fear grips you by the throat.

Your brother’s face looks back at you.

You wear your swords the way he did. Your hair falls like his, dark in the shadow of Irene. Your face is gaunt and pale from old habits, eating only enough to sustain yourself so rations will stretch long enough for you to find more—do you remember how they starved Gene before they killed him? How they weakened him so he wouldn’t have the energy to fight? How pale and gaunt he was, dirt streaking over the side of his face, blood and grime drying in his hair, shaking and sweaty with how hard he fought back? Do you remember the scar that twisted around his throat when he returned from the dead to get his vengeance? Your collar is open over the scar he left twisting across your own, and it matches his own so very well. In the shadows of your eyes, you see his own staring back.

You think of the war. You think of how easy the killing was. You think of how easily Gene cut through the guards, the Lord, the memories of Boboros. The rage in his voice when he denounced you as his brother, the twist of his smile when he told you he would leave you to rot, Dante. No one will ever remember you. You can see that twist in the corners of your own smile, pushed into shape by the deep scars on your cheeks. You and your brother are the same.

You’re shaking too much to stand. You never go without your armor again.

[mikakuna]

to each their own but to see jason as anything other than someone who breaks down crying when someone is tender and loving with him is illegal