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jellykyunnie · 4 months ago

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˗ˏˋ Entry : 052 - Lovesick! Fae King! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, gaslighting(?), gore, body horror, blasphemy, BLOOD, the act of burning people alive, arson, yandere/lovesick Jinwoo au ]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Then Let This World Set Ablaze ] ¡! ❞

You really don't know how it happened, one day you were strolling blissfully in the forest behind your cottage and now you were suddenly acquainted with the fae king who was in charge of the underworld

In your world that was run by a bunch of swindling and bastard gods with their minions of divine creatures who praise even their most horrendous crimes; lives an eternal fae king of the dead who never wanes in power.

From the heavens, the lands, the seas and the afterlife— The Fae King of the undead was someone no one could touch. Not even the greater demons and the father of all creation could dare face this man.

Well, they did once upon a time.

And the world was plunged into eternal darkness with humans being shielded by the same king everyone had despised. Humans now realized that those they worship had little to no regard to them as they started a devastating ragnarok just for the sake of pride and royalty.

In the end? 80% of the gods who started the war fell beneath the fae lord's feet and reincarnated into ghastly undead soldiers made of shadowy wisps wicked beyond one could ever imagine.

Since then, Jinwoo had become someone the common folk and even demons worship. Does he care? No. He just wants to live his long and take care of his family in his kingdom where no one can get in or out.

Not even the 9th class mages could even locate where it is.

Maybe there are but never lived to tell the tale and probably suffering eternal punishment in his army of the undead where even gods aren't spared from.

Until you.

Yes, you.

Just a simple girl who lives out in the cottage living life as happily as she can away from the big city.

The foolish and small you who doesn't even have a pinch of divine power nor exceptional mana flowing within your blood.

Somehow, the same you who is nothing more than just one of the many soul the resides in this vast world— Stumbled upon the kingdom of the Fae King of the Eternal Night.

Word of tongue say this place would be barren and dry with rot here and there. The nauseating scent of death would flow here and there that it would lead you mad.

But all of those were lies.

Instead you had found youself in a tranquil land where all sorts of flowers glow beneath your feet as a guiding trail. When you followed the gentle lights that guided you in this ethereal land where the stars shine brighter than you've ever seen— You would find yourself in front of the same king that all beings fear and submit you.

Yet why is he so beautiful?

You should be afraid.

And yet you find yourself entranced by this man who brought the mightiest being of earth to their knees.

Cascading and silky long black locks that falls so prettily as if it's made from the finest of fine silk, loose and almost open black robes that seem to glimmer softly as if it's made with a blanket of stars, a face so sculpted so perfectly it's impossible to not say this man must have been a sculpture made with hands of a divine artists whose touch only brings perfection— And oh those eyes.

Those enchanting silver eyes of death that seem to pull you into an abyss you're willing to drown yourself into.

This divine being in front of you,... Is he truly the same man who has powers so great that he can eradicate all living being with a wave of his hand whenever he pleases?

You find yourself incapable to believe that, no way, this man is too beautiful for all that wickedness.

And so that was the day you have somehow stumbled upon the kingdom of the eternal night and earned the favor of it's benevolent ruler.

꒰ ... ꒱

Contrary to what the ancient texts and the priests say about Jinwoo's cold temperment— He's actually surprisingly decent and quite normal.

Maybe even more gentle than the local men of your village who are nothing more than burly men who only care about their muscles and beer and getting laid in the dead of night.

Jinwoo is extremely easy to talk to and seems to take pleasure in showing you around his kingdom which is full of life despite being a place where the personification of death presides in.

No, in fact, this place is far more beautiful than the major cities you have seen in your small lifespan as a living being.

His soldiers who are the most fiercest of all would turn into somewhat into a group of puppies the moment they see their master passing by. Of course, the undead creatures were skeptical of you at first but quickly grew warm as soon as they realized that their 'father' is quite fond of you.

A few of them are even asking if you could play with them— To which Jinwoo strictly says no to their dismay.

You really think nothing of all this, don't you?

After all, the fae king is treating you so warmly.

You really aren't thinking of it, don't you?

You foolish, naive child.

꒰ ... ꒱

Jinwoo had his eye on you for the longest time ever since you had moved into the meek village. You are nothing more than a puny and naive human who wants to live a good life and the village welcomed you.

You were given the abandoned cottage deep in the forest but not too far from the village, they even volunteered to repair the decrepit place to which you can't possibly thank them enough for.

Such generous humans for someone as sweet and cute as you.

Yes.

Cute.

An emotion that the fae king couldn't quite describe at first since he grew used to the absence of emotions because of his birth as the one who will succeed the late Ashborn as the new kingdom of the eternal night kingdom and the new monarch that will lead the army of the dead.

His duty? To uphold peace and make sure all living beings stay in their place and never go out of line.

Should they do so then it'll be immediate death as well as being added to the immortal army to prevent them from reincarnating and repeating the same mistakes.

He grew as a normal child of the elven kingdom. But as his powers grew— His emotions disappeared one by one until he is nothing more than that for a vessel of war.

Jinwoo is more than thankful enough for his beloved family who resides with him in the kingdom. He shaped this barren place for them to live in and do what they desire.

A medicinal lab for his little sister who studies healing magic, a garden for his mother to tend to any time, and a smithy for his father to busy himself to and craft weapons for fun, or maybe just his small way of helping his kind son who unfortunately has to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders.

Truly, he can't be thankful enough.

Even if he cannot feel the same level of affections he has for them the way he used to when he was but a small elven child who wished nothing more than protect and love them.

But then you came.

A fascinating and adorable human that he has a weird connection to.

He was drawn to you.

Jinwoo can never know where these foreign feelings stem from, all he knew is that he is completely entranced by you and you only.

What is it that he feels?

He wanted to watch you.

He wanted to imprison you.

He wanted to see you smile.

He wanted to see you cry miserably.

He wanted to ruin you.

But he also wanted to cherish you.

Jinwoo cant quite put a finger on it. Regardless, he was satsified on just watching you for now since he can't exactly interfere with anyone else's life since he wants to be left alone too.

But then you stumbled upon his kingdom by accident because one of his foolish children forgot to close the dimension that leads back to his domain.

He could punish them, but he decided against it since he is quite thankful of the unexpected arrangement.

He just has to tighten the security and indulge in you.

Jinwoo is aware that humans can express quite a lot since his sister is very much like that.

But you bewitch him in a way he cant really describe.

He loved to watch the way the flowers would dance and caress your gentle skin when the wind blows. He loved the way your clothes wrinkle around your perfect body that he just itched to hold. He loved to hear your sweet voice ringing in his ears when you ask him trivial and downright ridiculous questions just to satisfy your musings.

But he, the king of this land, was the fool that indulged in all your whims.

He can't really resist you, how could he?

Jinwoo has no will to fight whatever is stirring within him in the presence of the precious you.

It was to the point that he becomes extremely obsessed with you without him realizing, he wanted to know more.

Human curiosity is the reason why the species has thrived so far depsite being one of the lower life forms whose sole purpose is to play puppets for the pathetic beings higher than their measly mortal beings, right?

That means Jinwoo can also be curious too.

No matter how twisted it can be.

It should be fine.

꒰ ... ꒱

Oh how foolish can he be too, huh?

Your frequent trips to his kingdom resulted in the villagers rioting against you with the holy church charging you with meddling forbidden witchcraft.

Somehow those old bastards in the town managed to convince everyone that you are doing something heinous when in reality you were just accompanying Jinwoo on a daily basis.

And so they dragged you to the stakes, tied you on a pole and did their blasted rituals gaslighting themselves that what they're doing as it is for the world and the will of the lord that you die by fire.

"Ignite her," A booming, thundering voice ruptures through the maddeneds howls and cackles of the villagers and priests gathered around your sorry figure praying to whatever fucking god they believe in. "I dare you"

"You!" A bishop raises his finger at the stranger, his action full of vigor and pride. "How dare you interrupt this holy ceremony dedicated to our benevolent ghod Anakkhis?"

"Hah?" The heretic scoffs, finding the whole idea ridiculous. "You're talking about that god? That fool that wept at my feet for mercy? You have some thick skin for thinking that someone like me will cower over a measly insect like that?"

"You—" The bishop gasps, completely taken aback at how bold he was. "Restrain him! That filthy thing dares to speak blasphemy of the great one! Burn him alongside that wench!"

"That wench?" Jinwoo clicks his tongue, his eyes turning into an even stronger color of blazing purple as priests and ordinary humans charged at him. "You've given me more reason on why I should murder the lot of you. For daring to call my woman a wench and burning her for a sin that was never there."

With a snap of his fingers, head would explode one by one and the screams of onlookers would fill the air that was once filled with laughter and mirth.

Cold and unfeeling Purple eyes look straight at you, each step that he makes accompanied with the falling corpses.

You dare not look at Jinwoo's gaze, after all, the air is too suffocating. You can barely even take a full breath, everytime you try to it feels like your lungs will suffocate.

And the screams, god those tortured screams.

How dare you ever doubt that he is the absolute being that has put the world on a chokehold?

By the time the priests have realized who Jinwoo was, it was far too late now since he immediately had their heads bursting.

When he reached you, his blackened hand gently lifts your face to meet his maddened and cold gaze.

How is he still so hauntingly beautiful despite the blood splatters on his divine face?

How can wrath look so gorgeous and ethereal on someone like him?

You can see the vein popping on his jaw as he unfastened the ropes and picked you up, allowing your sorry form to weep on his shoulder.

"Please, stop it!' You beg, not wanting to hear more of the torturous screams. "I'll do anything, just please stop it"

"Anything?" Jinwoo tilts his head, musing at your sobbing.

"Anything." You choke up, holding tighter onto him to show your sincerity. "Please, please stop it"

"Then you shall be my wife" Jinwoo simply says as presses his lips on your pretty little head. "Humans have a saying ti'll death do us apart. But you have no need for that."

"After all, your husband is death itself."

He is both hell and heaven depending on which side you choose to take. He is the absolute being that brings everything to it's knees. The madman who has succesfully put the world into the palm of his hand.

The village that once welcomed you with warm and loving arms starts to disappear from the distance as it billows a cloud of smoke from cindering and brilliant violet flames that defies everything natural.

It was a warning to the gods and all other living beings

,... That the Fae King of the Eternal Night Kingdom, the Shadow Monarch of the Immortal Army— Is alive and well.

It is a way to announce that he still stands as the most powerful being with an omniscient view of this wretched earth and will return should they step out of line again.

May it be humans or their worshippers, no one will be spared from the bloodbath and carnage he will bring should his wrath ever be incurred.

And, you.

You, the foolish and naive child of the land—

Is the salvation that will prevent this world from dancing in violet flames so long as you remain in his hold. Forever captive to his obsession.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Whoever may i write for I will always return to my beloved Jinwoo heheh><!! I love him dearly and can never stop loving him try as I might xD!! Next fic are hsr men again so look forward to it. For now, a self-indulgent au is here that I will be making a bot for tomorrow too so heheh:3!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆— kyunnie's writings #sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling headcanons #sung jinwoo x reader #ore dake level up na ken #jin woo sung #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo headcanons #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo x fem reader #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo x reader #yan!sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo fics #sung jinwoo x y/n

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mo0nfairy · 5 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART TWO !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.9k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!viktor, obsessive!viktor, g/n reader, violence/gore, s3lf-harm, (very light) s3xual implications, needles, vomit, & terminal illness.

viktor's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, heroic, & obsessive

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Viktor always finds himself dreaming of the same thing.

He imagines himself consuming the correct remedies and garnering the ability to walk, to run, to stand tall on his two feet. He is merely a child, but he is well aware of his weaker form. In the fragrance of these illusions, he can become capable and mighty; he can be the fearless warrior who protects his loved ones from lurking danger.

To heal and obtain strength — that is the haunting desire which paints his dreams.

The young boy now greets the sun in all of its blistering heat. The cloudless sky casts a shimmering glint upon the rusted scrap metal and bent screws of his handmade boat. Viktor’s frail hands place the creation upon the surface of a river stream. In the light of his childlike wonder, he imagines himself the captain, guiding his loyal crew across a grand sea overwhelmed with thunder and lightning. His dreams remain stagnant in his brain, though, where they have remained his entire life.

The jagged gears and sprockets hasten down the current before Viktor can bring himself to his wobbly knees. The boat has now accelerated to speeds little he cannot keep up with. When his crooked cane escapes from his grasp, he falls down with it. His nose aches from the harsh plummet against the ground and specks of tears begin to build in his bambi-brown eyes. He winces from the few painful jolts in his weak legs before he is finally able to stand once more.

When he searches, Viktor cannot find his beloved boat anywhere in sight. His eyes follow the stream ahead, which descends into an abysmal cave. He measures the weight of his options, but ultimately decides that his boat is too precious to abandon.

With a gulp, he carefully treads forward into the cave. Here, there is no light to guide him, only sound. And every drop of water and subtle echo of breath has his tiny heart hammering. He imagines some great, big, green-hued monster to crawl from the darkness and chow down on his thin bones. Viktor imagines the utmost worse to occur, but does not relent with his original intentions. He has to be brave, he asserts to himself.

When he rounds a corner, he spots a strange patch of light in the distance. Within this light, he recognizes the familiar cog of his boat peeking from behind a rock. He is moments away from cheering and celebrating the return of his greatest invention, until he notices the journey he will have to endure to retrieve the boat.

Viktor will have to squeeze himself through a narrow crack, threatening to release the avalanche of boulders from above. Still, he concludes his boat to be more important than his safety. He wastes no time in rushing forward to enact on such.

There is a struggle as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, but he captures success when he finds his small frame to fit perfectly through the tight gap. Chunks of rock protrude rudely into his emaciated form as he crawls, but he continues onwards. Viktor reaches his hand out, grasping air momentarily, before he finally lodges the wheel of his boat between his two fingers. With a soft “yes!”, he yanks the boat back into his possession.

Before he can leave, however, he finds something striking in his periphery. In its journey, his boat landed in a space overwhelmed with glistening crystals.

Viktor eagerly slithers himself into the expanse. Bringing himself to his feet, he proceeds to marvel at the sight before him.

The one fraction of the area that fascinates him the most is the great boulder directly in the center. It twitches and heaves with faded life, while radiating an aura of blue and purple luster. The opalescence is muted from its old age, but the sparkles still captivate him beyond belief. It does not take much to impress a boy raised in the lanes, after all. It is beautiful, Viktor thinks to himself.

And in the height of his desire for answers, he slowly places a hand upon the surface.

His vision abruptly goes dark and flashes of images then skim through his head.

Viktor sees a person, almost. They have jagged skin and colorful flesh, with swirling hues of blue and purple levitating from their open palm. The scars treading along their skin spell out some form of incantation. The letters are ineligible, but Viktor still attempts to grasp the meaning within the short spurts of clarity casted across his brain. Incomprehensible whispers in this language permeate from every corner of the cave, as though the bats have been assigned the task of delivering a message.

Viktor cannot grasp any of the statements spoken, but one word is emphasized with acute clarity.

Y/N.

There is a vision of a grand tree, bristling with life and color, before that image is replaced by his normal sight of the cave. The floors and walls surrounding him all rumble and vibrate, threatening to crumble. A few loose stones descend from the ceiling and nick his ragged clothing.

Viktor does not waste a second more before he is scrambling toward his point of entry. Squished through the skinny gap, around the several corners, and out the sunlit entrance — he has successfully escaped the crumbling cave with his boat held tightly in his grasp.

A thundering pain then sinks into his leg. The force brings him to the ground with a violent wince. When he looks to the source, he finds that his leg is in its normal condition. What he doesn’t find, however, is his cane. Somehow, he had endured the entire escape without the support of his cane, which has now been swallowed by the tumbling rubble of the avalanche.

Viktor tries to catch his breath and find a feasible explanation. Was it adrenaline that got him to safety, or possibly… Magic?

The topic of this “earthquake” spread throughout the Under-City, before ascending into the glamorous land of Piltover. Without wasting a beat, Piltover swiftly claimed rights to the cave and utilized the expanse for resources, all of which Viktor watched from the high surface of a neighboring water tower.

Seeing the men work themselves to the bone, shipping off samples of what was his discovery, Viktor makes a promise to himself.

He will fight tooth-and-nail to cross the bridge of Piltover. Then, he will reclaim possession of those crystals and protect them as his.

He will succeed, he solemnly swears to himself.

In the span of the years that followed, this mysterious creature, Y/N, has ushered Viktor to chase after his brightest dreams: to heal and obtain strength. They have been his light as he guides himself to this goal; his lantern through a violent blizzard.

The journey to success began when Viktor first dipped a toe into adulthood.

The remaining years of his adolescence were spent in a ridiculous back-and-forth cycle with several prestigious schools in Piltover. Viktor was an exemplary student, that has been made abundantly clear. However, the elites in the academies were wary of his background as an Under-City citizen.

Time after time, he persevered past every expectation of him and flourished with flying colors. Viktor was prepared to stand outside their offices, down on his knees with fresh coffees in hand for their approval.

It wasn’t until a few days after his eighteenth birthday were his efforts finally taken into account. It was through the eyes of Heimerdinger that Viktor finally received recognition, who offered the young scholar the role of his assistant.

Viktor accepted the offer with embarrassing speed.

The role of an assistant is not his dream, though. It is merely one stepping stone toward the finish line of his goals. These are facts he has to relentlessly remind himself of. Upon scrutinizing the failed efforts of a Talis scientist, however, he realizes how difficult this task is. Possibly bridging on the edge of impossible, if he is honest with himself.

After an abrupt explosion, Viktor was sent to study the materials used in Jayce’s experiments and verify their safety. He ventured into his isolated office and began his scrutinization of the notes and toolsets scattered around. A steel metal box, adorned with intricacies of blue and gold, calls out to his curiosity. Flicking the metal tab open, Viktor lifts the heavy lid and finds the very last thing he expected to see.

Held in copper claws are fragments of the crystals he discovered as a boy. All glistening and pulsating in those tones of blue and purple.

“Y/N…” The word crawls out strangled from his throat. Accompanied with his stuttering gasps, he has been rendered to a man absolutely breathless.

His hands tremble like a thundering earthquake as they take one of the crystals into his gentle grasp. And just like that, all the resentment and festering anger he harbored for Piltover had vanished. As though merely touching these shards provided him with the impossible tranquility found in forgiveness.

All he needed now was to return to you, then anything other than serene bliss can melt away.

Viktor offered (with a stifling fervency) to join Jayce in his efforts to learn more of this magic. From here, “Hextech” was born.

Many, many years have now passed since their partnership. In these years, only puny progress has been made in Viktor’s chase for his dreams. With what success they’ve grasped, they’ve managed to capture the attention of scientists and investors across the world.

Jayce, the born-and-raised Piltie he is, has claimed all credit for the perseverance of Hextech with loud, prideful words and his chest puffed out like a bird. He revels in the bouquets of applause and praise he is drowned in.

Viktor, on the other hand (and despite being the sole reason behind Hextech’s success), cannot find it within himself to care for Jayce’s entitlement. All he has ever cared for is you and the dreams you keep safely nestled in your palms. Everything else is immaterial.

2021 has now reached its lively Summer. Unfortunately, the goals Viktor set out for himself that year are miles away from fruition. His primary focus has been the runes he saw adorning your form and what definitions remain in every scratch. Translating the characters will lead to your location, he is positive of such.

With that being said, all these wasted days have been spent finding himself in the same dead ends he’s visited countless times. He can feel his worn body eroding with every passing second, with the glimmer of his dream now beginning to flicker with old, neglected light.

Home again, Viktor partakes in his evening routine before bed, a routine he has followed for years. The thick paper in his at-home office is used to its utmost value, where the ink of his pen bleeds his heart out onto the draped scroll.

If it weren’t for his broad vocabulary and expensive handwriting, you would think these scrolls were the works of a teenage girl gushing about her crush. In reality, it is Viktor releasing the pent-up emotions he’s forced into captivity during the hours at work. Here, within the safety of his home, all of these feelings can be exposed in all of its ugly brilliance. His sentences may be frivolous, but they are overwhelmed with an ardent need.

Without realizing, he sometimes finds himself unconsciously sketching your face from his memories as a boy. That breathtaking, tragically enchanting face has haunted him beyond belief. And that is especially the case now, as he signs off yet another letter to you with his signature “Yours Forever and Always, Viktor”. He takes one last longing glance to your features he sketched over the romantic words.

Propping himself onto his cane, he curls the scroll into itself. He then treads to his bedroom and rests the scroll on the flower bed just outside the window. Joining this letter is another gift he addressed to you.

Viktor takes hold of his handmade boat he carried with him into adulthood. It is now miserable and rusted, but remains one of the most sacred items he owns. He nestles it safely beneath the thick hedges of the flowers, ensuring no gusts of wind or fluttering birds can disrupt its placement.

These actions are taken with one intention in mind: garnering your attention.

Surely, from wherever you may be, you will catch sight of the boat and be reminded of the connection you formed with him long ago. He is sure of this, despite waking every morning to the same, untouched flower bed. Still, this neglect is not anywhere near enough to hinder his efforts.

Slowly, he situates himself into his bed and faces his body toward the window. Sleep is something that rarely ever finds him, but in the midst of these rarities, he sleeps like a restless child on Christmas Eve. One day, Viktor will wake to your heavenly silhouette peering at him through the window. He falls asleep with this prayer ghosting his lips.

Another day of fruitless work is what he is met with the following morning. No soft, jagged hands stroking his hair or crooked smile to rival the early-day sun.

These failures, mended with the countless rough patches Hextech has faced in recent months, have taken a perceptible toll on Viktor. Again and again, he rearranges the runes of the Hexcore and provides it with a multitude of subjects to learn from. Still, he does not earn even a glimmer of a possible translation. All this effort forged into finding your whereabouts has resulted in defeat, yet again.

The hours of the day drag on in agonizing lethargy. The walls of the headquarters could almost resemble the metal bars of a prison. Here, however, the office space provided by Heimerdinger’s connections and Talis House money was far more luxurious than a dank cell.

A window with intricacies molded into the surface provides a blinding light from their high-view point in the city. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes scrutinizing his every move. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and gadgetry scattered about the surfaces.

The room is dull in comparison to others in the building, yes, but neither he nor Jayce had time to concern themselves with appearance. Maybe… Maybe you’ll help with decorations when the time comes. Maybe you’ll adorn these boring walls with those opalescent crystals and shimmering jewels of yours. You can provide this room with life, just the same as you did for him.

So engrossed in the bewitching pondering of you, Viktor fails to notice another person in the room. Sky, he thinks he can recall her name as. She rambles nervously about nonsense he cannot be bothered to discern. It is only when she treads a little too close to the Hexcore is he finally brought out of his inner turmoil. Her elbow unintentionally nudges a nearby house plant toward the Hexcore.

A scolding bridges on Viktor’s tongue, but is replaced by a suffocating silence when the Hexcore clings to the plant.

A bolt of purple springs from the runes and clasps to the plant like a hand, twitching as it absorbs the energy from the leaves. When the potted plant wilts, the Hexcore bursts with new energy and flourishes with greenery that reaches the ceiling. It radiates in the colors of blue and purple he knows all too well.

From the illumination is a character of one of the runes. Viktor watches in enraptured amazement as said rune unfolds and spells out something tangible.

“SAN T RY”, the letters speak.

Santry? Maybe it is an incantation or a phrase native to the language you speak, he is not sure. Nonetheless, the heavy ache in his chest eases and welcomes the light of excitement.

His brain dares to assume you would then somehow blossom with the flowery, there to breathe life into the dream he’s spent years striving after. Much to his horror, however, all the thriving organic matter soon withers away. As the decaying fragments descend, Viktor rushes over, discarding his cane. He clings to the dead remnants piling on the floor as though it were you who died in his hands.

As quickly as it had begun, it has now ended. And through the shocked silence, he is sure he can hear the tortured remains of his heart die alongside this damn house plant.

Still, the tortured soul does not impede his intentions of translating the runes of the Hexcore. If anything, his motivation has endured an incredible increase.

His crafted boat and another written scroll have found their home on his flower bed, once again, but Viktor is far from his bedroom. He remains in his at-home office, grinding the hours of the past week into understanding the meaning behind this groundbreaking discovery.

Why was there such a dramatic reaction to biological matter? Does this serve as a step forward in the direction of his dreams or does this eradicate all his original effort? Will he have to scour through every note he has written in the past decade to find something that explains this revelation?

And could it… Is it really you?

The runes scribbled on his notepad may as well have been chicken scratch. Despite his unwavering intelligence, he still cannot piece together the meaning of the characters the Hexcore had given him. At this point, translating a mere syllable would be enough for Viktor to shout “eureka!” from the highest building in Piltover.

“Viktor.”

Time stands still.

The voice that permeates through the office is almost strangled, as though his brain can’t quite grasp what the voice actually sounds like. Still, it is an elegant conundrum of the most ethereal music he has ever heard. And he knows, he just knows where this beautiful melody has perfused from.

Oh, Y/N.

My angel. My dearest.

His brain begs for him to turn around and bless his vision with what he knows will be the most perfect sight he’ll ever witness. His body, however, has been reduced to that of a frozen statue, completely stiff and still.

“Look at me.”

The demand falling from your tongue erases all of that.

His body seems to move on its own, beginning to slowly, breathlessly, turn around. He knows it will be too much for his weak body to endure, yet still, he cannot stop himself. It is as though you’ve plunged a hand into his nerves and began conducting his movements like a puppeteer.

Viktor finds you standing across the room and a sob is yanked from his chest. Your figure has personified in a mess of blinding brightness and confusing colors — a watercolor portrait detailing every speck of the word perfection. It strains his eyes to look at you. Yet still, he cannot bear to look away. Not now, not ever.

What is clear in his vision, though, is what you present in your hands. You hold the rusted boat he crafted as a child, with your fingers exploring the gears and cogs plastered against the scrap metal. As you fidget, you tread closer to where he sits. And with tears seeping down his face, Viktor watches your every move in absolute devastation.

“I’ve been searching for this for quite a while.” You hold the boat in an admirable presentation. “For you, as well.”

His heart exhales, almost. As though something had been digging their tight nails into the gooey tissue and finally, finally eased their grasp.

When you bend down beside him, glorious face just inches away from his, Viktor can truly feel his freed heart melting down to puddled nonsense. Your hand then finds his cheek and you cup his boney face in your palm. Your touch feels like fuzzy static from the devices he tinkers with. Electrifying, and most imperatively, warm.

“My beautiful masterpiece.” Your voice still remains a mellifluous scratch and punctures his soul with every timbre and tone.

He can’t help but feel small beneath your gaze. Like a nasty insect. Weak, immaterial, and easy. Skittering across your flesh and ensnaring his prickly limbs around this grand sugar cube he’s stumbled upon. He is something so trifling in comparison to you. Potent, imperative, and intricate. Exuding saccharin with every step you take and indifferent to this foul pest lapping up any sliver he can get.

“How could you let this drag on so long, Viktor?” You question. “You were cut from the cloth of my flesh. Soaked in the rivers of my blood. There is no you if not me. You and I are one.”

Viktor has been rendered to a man overcome with twitter-patted hysteria. He is shocked he is even still able to breathe, no less, maintain consciousness in a moment of such frenzied elation. No words escape him in response; all he can do is stare and revel at the sight he’s been slaving his entire life just to find a glance of.

Another euphoria-induced beat passes before you do the unthinkable. With a few measured glances to his mouth, Viktor watches in astonished rapture as your eyes flutter close and your mouth subtly parts. Then, you lean into him.

Just before your lips touch, impaling him with the inevitable exaltation he’ll surely die from, he blinks and finds himself face-down at his desk.

Reality may as well have slapped him across the face.

A light, delirious gasp leaps from him as consciousness settles in. Viktor finds his lips puckered against his knuckles, where drool seeps from the corner of his mouth and onto the notes beneath his head. He buries his face into his hands with a jagged, frustrated groan.

Dreaming of kissing the partner of his dreams, is he a teenager again? Then again, you’ve always had your clever ways of making him feel as such. This romantic disposition of his did not flourish until the later years of his adolescence, of which he assumed were the normal changes every young man faces. Then, as a mature adult, he can continue his efforts of translating the runes with complete clarity.

Bridging on almost two decades later, these feelings have yet to cease. Viktor is still horrifically and irrevocably in love. Not even the promise of heaven could help fizzle out these emotions. What is heaven compared to you, anyway?

He peeks his gaze through the creases of his fingers and finds he had fallen asleep on his planner. In the ink (now diluted and splotched from drool), he finds the date of the fundraiser he had promised Jayce to attend. With a glance at the clock, he realizes he has several minutes to prepare himself until the event begins. Another groan rumbles from his throat.

All Viktor wants is to return to the dreamscape of your enchanting words and magic-spun lips. Is that too much to ask for?

Dusk has now begun to fade down the horizon, illuminating the artwork of Mel Medarda in a scintillating glow. The art is irrelevant to all, however, as scientists and engineers across the globe have traveled here to sell their million-dollar ideas to Piltover’s greatest investors.

Viktor now stands behind Jayce as they saunter through the gallery, stifling a grunt with every dry conversation he’s unnecessarily dragged into. The scientist they’ve found themself shackled in a conversation with trails on about his success in other nations. He is quite famous for his fruitful discoveries and resolute intelligence, but Viktor could not care less about what this stranger has to offer them.

Standing here, idle chatter and rich laughter perfusing from every corner, all Viktor can find himself thinking of is you. He juggles with the reality of the previous events, trying to differentiate whether it was another sugar-spun dream or a message sent straight from your pen. He’s never had a dream so explicitly vivid before, after all. Could it have been a sign? Was this your reciprocation? Do you truly possess the same feelings for him as he does for you?

“That sounds incredible. Doesn’t it, Viktor?”

A nudge from Jayce and Viktor is barely yanked back to reality.

“Ehh, yes. Yes, it does…”

Without another click, Viktor then returns to his favorite place: the thought of you.

That dream was the encapsulation of his greatest desires falling into his palms. The only proof he has that it was an actual dream and not reality were the current speeds of his fluffed-out heart. To witness you through his naked eye, to feel the genuine touch of your hand, to mold his needful lips against yours — it would kill him instantly. The fact that he is still alive now is all the evidence Viktor needs to realize that, unfortunately, it was just another dream in a sea of thousands.

This does not halt his brain from soaking in the contents of his dream, however. All he could think about in the midst of this stupid cocktail party was your face, your body, your voice. God, could there be anything so indubitably perfect in this world?

And your kiss, oh, the things Viktor would do to receive such vehement affection. Your presence is enough to kill him, yes, but your kiss would revive him, just to kill him all over again.

A delicious juxtaposition between life and death — that is what you are made of. This lethal, intoxicating essence swims through your veins and weeps from your soul; it is a weapon any sane man would be ecstatic to succumb to. Viktor surely would, he has no hesitation with his judgment. He merely thinks of your face and is moments away from collapsing to his knees.

A server treads by with a platter hoisted over their shoulder. On the surface are several gold-painted champagne glasses. Viktor has no second to think before the server is shoving one of the glasses into his hands, no regard for his resistance.

He makes the motion to grasp the server's attention and return the glass, but something about it stops him. Twirling the glass in circles and watching the liquid swirl with the motions, he finds himself entranced. Viktor has never been one to drink alcohol, as it does more harm than good for his feeble body. With this glass now in his hand, he can’t prevent himself from contemplating the flavor. And perhaps the flavor could even be similar to you, maybe.

Would your kiss be as smooth as the thick liquid? Would it sting like the bubbling effervescence of the champagne? Just like the bolts of fervent electricity he garnered from the Hexcore? Would it be rich? Sour? Sweet? Maybe a mouthwatering collision no one has ever tasted before?

Viktor’s mouth waters as these thoughts invade his brain. If he were correct, he’d bottle the essence and get himself drunk on the taste for eternity. Even if it was poison, he would welcome the paradisiacal venom with a sun-bright smile.

Just before his lips meet the edge of the champagne glass to truly test what his angel may taste like, something captures his attention.

The words “Hextech” and “sell” should never exist within the same sentence, yet Viktor hears them crystal-clear from the mouth of this scientist. All bubbly, blissful nonsense frolicking through his mind is brought to an abrupt cut.

Viktor has caught the man halfway through a proposition regarding the sake of Hextech.

“Just between us scientists, you can tell me the truth. You’re surely getting nowhere with your experiments in that cramped office, no?”

Viktor tries to intrude and bring an end to the idea before it is even spoken aloud, but he is rudely interrupted.

“Imagine how much prosperity and success you can bring to the Hextech name with me there! All the profit you’d earn with my skills and experience.”

His nails dig violently into his palm as he drags on with his proposition. Like hell will he let some greedy capitalists put his hands on what sliver he has of you. It hurt to simply let Jayce touch the Hextech materials, despite the fact they were originally in his possession in the first place. To send it overseas to god-knows-where would wound him in ways he would never heal from.

A brutal rejection bridges on Viktor’s tongue. Maybe even a foul remark to add insult to injury. When he glances at Jayce, however, he finds the man's expression to be scrunched into puzzlement. Almost as though he were considering this scientist's offer.

A sharp shatter then pulsates through the room.

Viktor looks to his hand and finds he had shattered his glass in the height of his fury, cold champagne seeping down his folded sleeves.

A few partygoers fall silent and look at the sudden intrusion of volume, but soon return to their chit-chat when nothing feasible comes from the noise. Jayce, on the other hand, wastes no time in trying to inspect the glass shards punctured into Viktor’s pale palms. He yanks himself away before he can place a finger on him, however.

“No!” Viktor asserts.

He is not embarrassed of his outburst, either, despite how composed he presents himself to be. Not when you are on the line. How could he ever remain calm with this prospect knocking on his door?

A sharp glare to Jayce and the man begins fumbling through an explanation.

“I-I never said we would take the offer, just that-”

“Just what, Jayce?”

Viktor’s voice increases in volume. Eyes follow, but he does not care.

“It-It’s just… I’m worried, Viktor. You are clearly not in good shape and I don’t think the future of-”

Viktor swings his frail arm behind him before surging it toward Jayce’s face.

The punch does not land, as Jayce dodges it with ease, ultimately resulting in Viktor to trip over his leg. He lands on the marble floors with a violent thud, piercing pain spreading through his sensitive body upon impact.

All eyes are locked on the two now, hushed whispers drifting through the silent room. As fast as it had begun, it was now over.

Jayce attempts to assist his partner, but Viktor bluntly slaps his helping hand away and brings himself to his feet. If he has proved anything over the past decade, it is not Jayce he needs. It is you and only you. When he is met with the possibility of losing you, he cannot restrain the rampant, infuriated emotions coursing through his bloodstream.

Viktor then limps out of the building with rage still perfusing from him like a thick perfume. Jayce acquiesces, but does not attempt to follow his lab partner. The Talis name cannot be tarnished, after all.

He apologizes to the scientist with shame plastered across his expression. With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, he speaks in hushed tones and proposes the topics they spoke of beforehand.

Meanwhile, Viktor hastens to the sanctity of his home. It is the only safety he has been nestled with in the trajectory of his life. It is all done by your hand, as his home is where you are. Yes, with a slyly-sewn excuse, he was granted permission to keep the Hexcore in his possession, of which he wasted no time in snagging away. Now, he will protect and nurture this fragment he has of you by whatever means necessary.

Viktor soon trudges past the threshold adjacent to his living room, the mahogany doors creaking as he does so. Sauntering through, he is then met with an instantaneous peace.

His library is the place he possesses the utmost pride for, since all books present have been written by his hand. Here, every etch of ink correlates to you.

You are not something he can contain within the whorls of his mind, no. You must be expressed in any form of physicality Viktor can garner. Writing assists him in translating the runes, but it also serves as another desperate attempt to assure himself you are real and not just some psychic phenomenon he experienced as a child. You are real, you must be. You do not have a choice.

Many of the books detail your physicality, as much as his fuzzy, muddled brain can decipher. Other books are unorganized gibberish regarding your whereabouts. The runes, the crystals, the Hextech — all this science is just stepping stones leading him closer to you.

The other pieces, the more hidden ones, are for more frivolous exertions. Nights when these fantasies cloud his mind, he jots them down in messy splotches of ink and marvels at the ideas he bleeds onto paper. Said ideas are too intimate for him to revisit without flushing like a young boy stepping into the world of puppy-love. Nonetheless, they assuage him on the lonelier nights cramped in his office.

All of these books overwhelm the several isles of shelves within the grand library. Through the warm wood and soft lamplights, Viktor rushes past and does not bother to drag his thin fingers across the leather spines, as he usually does in admiration of his work. Instead, he rushes to the set of double-doors opposite to the other doorway.

Through this entrance is his at-home office; the room in which most of his time is spent. The area is nothing short of dull, but serves its purpose — that being supporting Viktor’s hard work and delusional fits.

That is certainly the case now, as the man chucks his cane to the ground and collapses onto a neighboring sofa. The materials are bristly and jut into his skin uncomfortably, but he cannot find it within himself to care. Not when his precious Hextech is at risk of being sold off like livestock. Not when you are moments away from being shoved onto a ship and sent overseas.

“Ridiculous. Selling you? How dare he even consider it!”

Viktor’s gaze finds the rolling chalkboard situated just beside his desk. On the green surface is a sketch of your face, drawn perfectly centered in the mess of numerous equations and jotted formulas.

“There is not enough money in the world- in the galaxy for me to even consider disposing of you!”

He stands to feet, wobbling slightly, before he limps over the chalkboard. He rests a gentle palm upon the surface where your cheek would be.

“No… Never you…”

Viktor had not realized how shockingly realistic the drawing of you was until this moment. All the hours spent sketching your face have resulted in him becoming quite savvy in his artistic abilities, as it shows, to a degree where he finds himself captivated with the sight. As though you were standing right before him, just as you were in his dreams.

“Never you…” His thumb caresses the jut of your traced cheekbone. “Perfect, magnificent you…”

With a light thud, his weary head lands against the board, where your foreheads align. From here, the neglected taste of champagne then returns to his memory. Truly, how would you taste? What emotions would he be flooded with if his dreams weren’t so rudely halted?

Viktor is now breathing heavily before the chalkboard, practically panting against the rugged surface. The idea of kissing you is not foreign by any means, but as he is still fresh out of the arms of his fuzzy dreams, his body cannot restrain itself from reacting dramatically to the concept.

He then presses a languid kiss to your chalk-drawn mouth. Sure, the surface may not have the softness and jagged texture he is certain you possess, but the concept alone is enough to get his heart burning.

Viktor’s mind becomes overwhelmed with the thought of you, like some hungry parasite latched into the fleshy grooves of his brain. How you’d taste, like lapping up the juice seeping from the forbidden fruit. How you’d feel, like the warm blanket of heaven’s clouds embracing him. Viktor is overwhelmed with the contemplation of everything; all the madness and repose that would follow with your lips on his.

The kiss hastens, until he begins utilizing his tongue in the state of vehemence. Thick chalk pervades through his mouth, but he is too far muddled by the fantasies bleeding through his head to pay any mind. He is messy and inexperienced with his mouth, yes, but the feverish need seared into his affections eradicates any nervous ticks or fearful hesitation.

Viktor’s efforts are abruptly cut short when he is overwhelmed by a coughing fit. He failed to anticipate how his fragile body would react to the thick chalk. It is an inevitability he should have realized sooner, had he not been so blissfully blinded by the imaginary, dusty lips of his lover.

What was expected as a few coughs to rid his throat of the dust resulted in him choking on rugged gags. His body slams against the surface of his desk as a desperate means for support.

Blots of hot blood and chunks of chalk amalgamate and splatter out from his retches. Far too light headed to notice, a few drops of this excess land on the Hexcore. Immediately, it begins pulsating with new life. From this vibration, a heavenly aura of violet and blue perfuses and sways in languid circles. A new set of runes he has never seen before join the cloud of color, which spell out incomprehensible letters as they glisten and churn.

This sudden change soon grasps Viktor’s attention, who is now met with a new sense of clarity upon discerning the sight. When the revelation simmers, he may as well have died right at his desk.

“Oh, dearest…” A wide, almost manic smile stretches on his thin face. “Is it me you need?”

The emotions swarming through his body have rendered him weak, but he has never known strength like he does in this moment. Viktor should have known from the beginning: you have always been calling out to him. It was never the measly plants that triggered a reaction, it was him! It was always him!

And so fervently will he give himself over to you. Whatever it is you desire, Viktor will personally deliver on a golden platter. He will be your warrior and your servant; he will set the world ablaze to ensure your happiness.

“Y/N… I promise…”

Viktor collapses before he can bring this new revelation to fruition.

The sounds of a robotic beeping is what greets Viktor next. The steady rhythm guides him as consciousness pervades his body. Through his blurry vision, he finds white walls, white floors, and himself in a white bed beneath white sheets. Everything is stale in its dull, depressing appearance.

Turning his heavy head, he finds a figure seated beside him with their head buried in their hands. A glimmer of hope sparkles through him.

“Y/N?”

Jayce raises his head with sharp speed and Viktor is met with acute disappointment. He fails to notice the trepidation and pity in his partner's eyes.

“Viktor… The doctors, they, uh, they said…”

He sinks further into the mattress. His goals, his dreams, everything he has ever wanted — none of it will be his.

Even beneath the weight of shocked grief, all that permeates through his weary head is you.

The runes inked on your flesh, how he’ll never caress them. The crooked frame of your smile, how he’ll never earn it. The contours of your jagged hands, how he’ll never hold them. The symphony of your musical voice, how he’ll never hear it. Viktor will never be able to have the one thing that matters most to him and this fact punctures him worse than any weapon forged by man.

“I-I know- I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but…”

Viktor’s waiting gaze deepens. “But…?”

Jayce’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something other than Viktor’s eyes to look at. With a deep breath, he breaks the silence.

“Hextech is going nowhere, Vik. We just keep finding ourselves at dead ends and clearly, it's taking a toll on-!”

“Wait, what are you suggesting?”

“What I’m saying is…”

Jayce stammers before finding the words to speak.

“Some scientists arrived overseas and I gave them a tour of our office. I think we should-”

“You what!?”

“I-I just showed them around and they provided some guidance. All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best for us to-”

“Absolutely not! I will not give up Hextech!”

The beeping of his heart monitor accelerates.

“You’re not listening, Vik. There is no you, anymore.”

Beep, beep, beep.

“What is that supposed to mean!?”

Beep, beep, beep.

“With how much… time you have left, I-I made the decision to give your role to one of the scientists.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“No, no, Jayce. Please- Please don’t do this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry, but I promise this is for your own good.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I will do- I’ll do anything, Jayce, don’t- don’t do this to me!”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“There’s nothing I can do, Vik. It’s out of my hands.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beepbeepbeep.

“We’ll be collecting the Hexcore from-”

BeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP-

“I WON’T LET YOU HAVE THEM!”

Viktor falls to the tiled floor, his shout spurting out like a glass shatter. Sharp and ragged, it is a tone he cannot recognize; the picture frame displaying the heart-shattering devastation of his unmet dreams.

The tubes strapped to his narrow limbs snap and spring into the air. Tears seep down the jagged juts of his cheekbones. Viktor’s slender, ghastly fingers grip the edge of the bed frame and he drags his limp body forward. Crusted fingernails dig into the ankles of Jayce, who abruptly stands from his seat and cowers away from the crazed man.

“They’re mine!”

The door bursts open and a gaggle of nurses and doctors follow the intrusion. They swarm into the scene like a school of fish darting away from the jaws of a great-white. Before Viktor can merely blink, they ensnare their hands around his thin body and restrain him to the cold ground. Despite his resistance, the needles of their syringes glint in the glow of the lamp.

Jayce mumbles another apology under his breath before he scurries away from the mess he has made.

The night passes quietly. So quietly, in fact, the staff that had stuffed Viktor with needles before had forgotten of his existence altogether. The door to his room has remained closed since their departure, and obliviously, they remain unaware of what remains beyond that threshold.

Just after the clock strikes three, the door peers open. A tiny squeak perfuses through the lengthy halls of the hospital, but the quiet night does not react to this intrusion. A head of brown hair peeks out from the opening. Assuring the coast is clear, Viktor takes a careful step out. He takes another, then once more, before he finds himself in a hurried limp out of the premises.

The streets are cold and unforgiving. Every street lamp and drunk pedestrian has his heart hammering. The sight of a horribly-emaciated man in a hospital gown will surely raise a few eyebrows, but nonetheless, he perseveres. As he stated before, nothing else matters when it is you on the line.

Viktor soon reaches the doors of his home. He wrestles with the key momentarily before the lock clicks and he’s barreling through the entrance. It is a weakened effort, but he rushes through his home and arrives at his office. When he finds his beloved equipment safe and sound, he releases a pent-up sigh of relief. His lanky hand rests upon the arm of the neighboring couch, as his body is just mere inches away from sinking into unconsciousness.

Viktor’s gaze, swaying with dizziness, then finds the rendition of your face he sketched on the chalkboard (which has since been smudged by the works of his mouth, but not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone). In a dazed attempt at finding your chalk-ridden lips again, Viktor begins to limp over to the chalkboard. In his efforts, his weak body fails him and his hands reach for his desk to maintain his balance. Here, he is greeted by the sight of the Hexcore, still glistening and pulsating with its hues of blue and violet. Still beautiful as ever, he thinks to himself.

He sits himself in the adjacent chair and continues to marvel at the runes illuminating the dim room. Viktor’s brain, always hungry, then treads toward the runes etched into your flesh, spelling out the same vocabulary scribbled across his desk.

As a child, he always wanted to be you. His mother often found him etching these runes with markers across his arms and legs, scolding him as she scrubs the doodles. As an adult, however, he found he’d rather be with you. Now, those inked stains have since washed away and he can’t help but ponder over their permanence.

An idea then flickers in his brain.

Viktor grasps the letter opener left languidly on the surface of his desk. With a few rushed breaths of fear, restless assurances begin permeating his brain. He no longer has a choice anymore. A second more of waiting and you’ll be ripped from his weak hands like candy from a baby. Spending his entire adolescent years without you was torturous enough. To do so for the rest of his lifetime will kill him before this illness does.

He faces this revelation head-on and begins reminiscing about the day he spoke to you. The day you truly spoke to him, no dreams or fantasies in sight. When you grasped one of the plants on his desk and gifted them life, before scribbling out a message just for him.

“SAN T RY”, you spelled out in magic runes.

Forever the mad scientist he is, Viktor has dissected every scratch and itch of this rune, trying so desperately to decode your letter. Now, things are different. There is no ‘tomorrow’ to start anew, there are no more second chances. All he has left is tonight. And he will stop at nothing to understand the words you whispered to him.

The tip of the letter opener punctures into his thigh with a wet squelch. A muffled groan of pained agony fights against his clenched teeth as he finishes carving the first character. Then, Viktor moves onto the next. Moist blood seeps down his thighs and spills onto the marble floors as he continues, spreading like the excess of a thick soup.

Sweat cascades across his body. His legs begin to quiver. The blistering ache almost becomes a second home. Still, Viktor refuses to relent and soon, he sits in a pool of his warm, oozing blood and gapes at his work of art. Sloppily engraved into his pale-white flesh are deep-red incisions spelling out your last distinguishable message.

A sense of pride fills his chest at the prospect of displaying his level of reverent devotion to you. At the prospect of earning his place at your side, to a degree where the pain seems like an afterthought. Huffs of lightheaded, delirious laughter fill the empty silence. Unbeknownst to him, a lazy finger makes contact with the Hexcore.

The Hexcore then begins to tremble, palpitating like the speeds of Viktor’s heavy heart. A light then floods from the runes and drowns the room in its blinding effort. Through the flashes of white, Viktor is overwhelmed with visions of an uncharted territory. Tall trees align the edges of a pathway, where whispers of incomprehensible incantations dance with the cold winds.

“SAN T RY”, the phrase that has haunted him for weeks, finally receives its final pieces.

A few bolts of prismatic lightning from the Hexcore and the word “SANCTUARY” glistens in a blinding presentation on his thigh.

And without another second wasted, that is exactly where he rushes to.

On the outskirts of the Under-City, Viktor stands at a clearing in a deep, overgrown forest. The trees that swayed in his vision from before are identical to those here, aligning the path he has been treading on. Blood continues to hasten down his thighs and into the dirt beneath his bare feet. Despite the searing pain, he continues forward. With the inevitability of losing you just upon the horizon, no pain in the world could falter his efforts now. The fear is more formidable than any torture he could endure.

As he continues limping forward, the ground suddenly begins to rumble violently. The force of it sends him to his knees, his frail hands digging into the soil for stability. A whirlwind then sprouts from the ground, forming a thick cloud of dirt and wind around him. Viktor cowers into himself in a desperate attempt at protection.

This tornado accelerates and spreads, engulfing him in its entire wrath. Roots then pierce out the soil and stretch into two tree trunks, chunks of dirt spattering upon the aggressive intrusion. The roots soar into the air and intertwine with one another, intricate grooves of warm brown slithering up their jagged bark. They soon meet and their limbs intertwine like two loving hands, forming an oval shape.

Just before he is sure the force of this whirlwind will take his body with it, the wind reaches its breaking point and bursts into the air. The storm has now been reduced to a gentle fog resting against the forest floor. The ground stops rumbling, the whirlwind eases, and Viktor can finally see the night sky in sheer clarity.

Trailing his vision forward, his attempts at standing are halted when he finds the newly-grown trees. The space within the oval has been filled by a sort of gray haze, almost like a portal. It is reminiscent of a surface of water, Viktor notes. Glistening like a midsummer lake beneath sunlight, with hues of violet and blue swirling around the edges. There are icicles descending from the leaves of the two trees like a weeping willow, as well, which sparkle in swaying hues of the same tones.

Scrutinizing further, Viktor is almost certain he can discern what lies beyond this newfound portal, but the mist is too distorted for him to reach a conclusion. When the image of you flickers through his mind, he garners strength he did not know he possesses. He then barrels past the threshold in animalistic speed. His vision is overwhelmed with a blinding white as he lands with a violent thump, before it eases back to its normal precision.

The clean pavement is harsh against his skin as he stands to his feet. Illuminated by heavy moonlight, Viktor finds himself on a quiet street. There are a myriad of shops and centers aligning the pathway as he saunters through. A library, a performance hall, an alchemist’s laboratory, a farmers market — an entire civilization has been cultivated right beneath the nose of the Under-City.

He limps over to several of the locations, pounding his fists on the door, calling out his lover's name, but none of his efforts are brought to fruition. Soon, he abandons his intention of entering the locked premises and continues onwards.

When he reaches the end of the street, Viktor discovers a tree that could touch the moon with its tall height. The trunk is almost as thick as a building with several holes punctured into the wood. From these holes, a blue and violet hued sap bleeds out and cascades into a fountain centered in front of the tree. Blossoming leaves adorned in these same colors stretch down from its branches and nearly graze the ground.

Through the leaves, golden lights flicker with warmth. Here, the broad branches of the colossal tree support the weight of several homes, all connected to one another with wooden bridges. One of the larger branches hidden beneath the canopy of leaves serves as a form of bridge. Surrounding this tree are towering mountains, which this bark-woven bridge leads to.

Viktor thought crossing the bridge to Piltover would reach the height of his amazement, but Topside riches have never left him this breathless. Then again, he has yet to find something that engrosses him with wonder the way you do.

When the tip of his foot collides with the edge of the fountain, he realizes he has been mindlessly wandering forward, too enthralled with the sights he has discovered to care for clarity. He attempts to scrutinize further, before his body is overcome with a sudden rush of lethargy. He collapses against the edge of the fountain and clings to the corners for stability. Blood seeps from his nose and oozes onto the pristine stone.

Before Viktor can scold himself for this disgusting weakness of his, two pairs of arms ensnare around his waist and hoist him to his feet. A sparkle of hope tells him it is you, but with flesh too smooth and bones too prominent, his delusions are brought to a halt before they could even run free. The appearance of these two remains a mysterious blur as they guide Viktor forward.

In his sluggish state, he watches his feet travel up the staircase wrapped around the trunk, limping past the lively houses, and across the bridge connecting the tree with the mountains. And passing this bridge was not reminiscent of his previous journey into Piltover, no. Had it not been these strangers keeping him upright, he’d have collapsed to his knees upon the newfound sight before him.

Nothing short of a palace has been built into the mountainside. Those familiar tones of blue and violet paint the expanse, accentuated with a rich gold. Stained glass windows reflect in the moonlight and irradiate the land in its colorful glow. Ensnaring the walls is a beautiful ivy, where Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers adorn the growing vines and blanket the intricate, elegant architecture.

A grand waterfall descends from the mountains above the palace and into the several rivers spreading throughout the land, meeting the fountain below in its journey, as well. The palace is almost a moat, but the sea of trees disturb any attempt of obtaining the title. The trees resemble the several he has already seen with drooping leaves and twinkling icicles, painting the land in heavenly hues of that familiar azure and violet.

It is far more extravagant and palatial than anything he has ever seen in Piltover. It is more grand than anything he has ever seen in his entire life, for the matter. He couldn’t conjure a better estate for you than this, as you deserve to rest in the pinnacle of luxury and opulence. And this palace is not lacking in those areas in the smallest slight.

Dragging forward (as Viktor has completely abandoned using his feet anymore), they pass through the stone-carved doors and enter the palace. Once through the entrance, Viktor begins to study the interior. And the interior is an almost perfect reflection of the exterior.

Blue and violet permeate the expanse through surrounding furniture and decor, most of which support the weight of art sculptures and trinkets Viktor fails to discern in his lethargic state. They go hand-in-hand with the spreading greenery, which you have evidently and happily allowed to perfuse throughout the entire place.

These details spread through the several twists and turns these helpful strangers drag Viktor through. They finally reach a halt in one of the numerous rooms.. Softly, they loosen their grasp and guide him to the ground. They promptly take their leave without a single word spoken.

A greenhouse is where he has found himself, he assumes. The walls and ceilings all consist of windows, with intricate white frames woven across all surfaces. The edges of the stone pathways beneath his feeble body are adorned with hedges and flowers, all varying in different colors. They compliment the wisteria drooping from several miniature trees, their thin branches adorned with several ornaments that exude a golden light.

Languidly bringing himself to his feet, once again, he finds one of the larger wisteria trees hovering over a pond. It resides in the corner with a small arrangement of rocks surrounding the edges, supporting the stream of a small waterfall leading into the pond. Here, birds surround the stream and bathe their feathers.

The embodiment of tranquility, that is how Viktor would describe this. He almost considers the possibility he had died in that hospital bed and this was the heaven waiting for him. All that is missing in his nirvana is you- oh, God, it’s you.

Simply shifting his gaze to the left, he finds a slab of stone residing in the middle of all this greenery. Upon the surface are several clay pots and cloth-woven bags overflowing with fertilizer. And tending to these products is no other than you.

A strange, overwhelmingly perfect light radiates from your body. Beneath this light, he finds you are draped in a cloak of varying adornments, all shimmering in opalescent hues. There are jewels and crystals sewn into your torso, pearls and wind chimes dangling off shoulders. There are feathers draped down your arms, with seashells aligning your ankles. Harp strings are woven around your every limb and tied into pretty knots. Your body is a centuries-old story told through the embellishments aligning your flesh.

And Viktor, oh Viktor.

No words could encapsulate the ethereal, deific, uncanny, godlike emotions this moment has overwhelmed him with.

There is no room to merely think with these feelings suffocating his brain. It is as though the melody of your love has swelled in their highest magnificence, the Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers blossoming into its most surreal beauty. It is the perfect moment.

Everything he has ever wished for conjured up into a single creature; the light at the end of the tunnel every sorry soul dreams of reaching — he almost doesn’t even believe it to be true. As though the creeping hands of his desires have ensnared their hands around his throat, allowing him one last morsel of illusory bliss before his life fades.

When you then turn over your shoulder, blessing him with the sight of your beautiful, tragically beautiful face, there is no denying the authenticity. This moment leaves a harsh toll on his physical state, as well.

Viktor’s eyes begin to roll back into his skull, but he strives against the force to continue indulging his vision in this glorious sight. Nausea pulsates in his stomach like a wrangling insect, but a few hard swallows keep the sickness at a weak bay. His knees tremble, threatening to buckle once again, but he maintains his posture with acute effort.

It is a battle against him and his body, of which inevitably, leads to failure. Throat pulsing with gagged coughs, Viktor then leaps to the ground and finds a nearby, empty plant pot. He empties his guts into the container. The excess looks like coffee grounds; all blood-stained and chunky. Guilt and shame are expected, but they have no room to thrive. Not when you are here.

He is, in fact, met with the very opposite when he watches from his periphery as you tread closer and bend down to his level. Weakness overwhelms him as he begins to digest more of your physicality. His body sways again from the weight of it all, beginning another descent back to the ground. You halt the motion by catching his cheek in your palm. The effort is enough to set his skin aflame, with a simultaneous bitter chill tickling down his spine.

His body is overwhelmed with these suffocating emotions, but is also blissfully light and peaceful. Horrifying euphoria stirred with devastating tranquility — a delicious juxtaposition.

And the way Viktor looks at you could rival the most devoted of religious followers finding the face of heaven. Eyelids lazy and drooping, framing the glassy tears building in his honey-brown eyes. His gaze is buried into you, more attentive than he has ever been with his brows furrowed into a weak, stuttering curl. Mouth hung agape in fervent shock, drool pools on his tongue and his bottom lip trembles like a child who skinned their knee.

He doesn’t even think before he’s leaning in to kiss you.

“This was not an easy effort, I can imagine.”

His intentions are bluntly interrupted, yes, but he could not have imagined a better way to be halted. A deific incantation, a call straight from heaven, a harmony the world's best musicians have devoted their whole lives trying to emulate — that is how Viktor would best describe the tones that drift from your lips. In fact, your voice catches him off guard to such an aggressive degree, he forgets he had even tried to foolishly kiss you in the first place.

“If I may ask, how did you find us?”

A flurry of words drift through Viktor’s head, toppling out of his mouth through stuttering gasps and pathetic attempts at the human language. It all becomes a mess of English and his mother tongue the further Viktor trails on of how he found the sanctuary, his first encounter with you as a child, and all the turmoil he gleefully endured just for this moment. Sprinkled in with gallons upon gallons of praise, of course.

There is some clarity, however. Fragments, albeit, but he does manage to establish coherency. One statement strikes abundantly clear.

“My Y/N, there is not a line in the world that I would not cross for you.”

And of course, inevitably…

“I love you.”

Those three words, heavier than the world he’s been blessed to stand on with you, continuously tumble out of his mouth. Viktor repeats the same sentiment again and again and again, each time possessing the same heart-shattering devastation.

You do not react, however. Despite his wishes for you to be overcome with euphoria upon receiving his confession of devotion, all you do is stare. You do not return his affection, either, but he is too muddled to notice this.

“You work beside Jayce Talis, correct?”

Viktor’s eye twitches. A flicker of betrayal catches flame, but the ignition is weak.

“Then, I am sure you have heard the Council speak about the influx of ‘Shimmer’, as they have titled it.”

The jealousy (that failed to overpower the miserable rapture, albeit) is eased instantly. If it is not Jayce you are concerned with, then what is it about Shimmer that has engrossed his beloved so?

“As gutted as I am to admit my faults, I am partially responsible for this distribution.”

Through the distorted daze of Viktor’s jubilation, he clings to your every words. You? Y/N? A drug lord? This does not make any sense…

“I am not aware how, but someone has grasped possession of my Dusk-Petals. They are only bred at my hand, so I fail to understand where they have retrieved them, but nonetheless, they have obtained them. They have derived the possessive component of my Dusk-Petals and have utilized the essence as the major component in this “Shimmer”. All for the sake of power and profit.”

Not a word is uttered from Viktor as your explanation settles. His darling has been so overcome with guilt and he was so oblivious! He attempts to scavenge the power to adorn you in reassurances, but beneath the weight of your light, he might as well have been a lifeless corpse on the stone pavements of your greenhouse.

“If I had a…”

Your gaze returns to his, expectantly. He nods along dumbly to every word parting from your mouth.

“Messenger, of sort, I may garner the opportunity to halt the expansion of this poison.”

A gasp, equivalent to that of one witnessing a murder, flees from Viktor’s chest. Yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes!

“Oh, my Y/N, you do not have to ask! Of course I will help you!”

He attempts to scoot closer to you, practically throwing himself into your warm arms. You hinder this effort.

“You… Y/N, you could shatter this entire world to nothing but scattered shards and I would crawl over the sharp glass with utter elation! As long as I can deliver whatever demand you send directly into your palms, I will do it all with a smile-!”

He interrupts himself with a coughing fit, rendered breathless from his own blabbering. He scrambles to wipe his hand of the inevitable blood that has spattered from his throat. In this effort, however, he is startled to find no blood at all. Not even a mere drop.

His gaze returns to you in all your heavenly form. You return his gaze, almost knowingly. His body cannot resist just melting beneath your attention.

“I love you, sweet angel.” Viktor confesses for the umpteenth time. “I cannot feel anything but my love for you.”

Your expression remains blunt and calm, as it remains stagnantly. Nothing short of utterly bewitching.

“Very well.”

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Viktor’s dreams have come true: to heal and obtain strength. After an entire lifetime, he is finally strong. Here, beneath the light of you, everything sings.

Now, his dreams have shifted. Viktor will be your loyal warrior.

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ I WILL LOVE YOU TILL I DIE AND

I WILL LOVE YOU ALL THE TIME . . . ❞

gif creds.

(you are free to imagine Y/N however you’d like to. nonetheless, this and this were my inspiration for what Y/N looks like, in case you were wondering. (nothing adhering to the gender or physicality, just their style and character!)).

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

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flowerbetweenfangs · 11 months ago

Text

Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic.

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her.

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle."

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low.

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth.

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body.

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.��

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air.

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

(You can read part 02 here!)

#monster love #monster lover #monster x human #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monsterfucker #terato #demon #demon x human #demon fucker #demon smut #monster smut #demon lover #boss x employee

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underlove-official · 7 months ago

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What is UnderLove?

"UnderLove" is an AU created by Radicalrainbow, based on the renowned role-playing game Undertale. In the universe of UnderLove, the struggle between love and hate shapes its story. It introduces a unique twist with love-centric magic and the contrasting power of hate. Characters’ appearances are heart-themed, adorned in shades of pinks, reds, and whites, with frilly trims, fluffy details, and prominent heart motifs embracing a Valentine's/Lovecore theme. Yet, this AU can show more than just one side of the coin.

Underlove's history

History of the Underground: Long ago, humans and monsters lived separately and in disarray upon the surface. Humans were known for their ruthlessness, hostility, and HATE, which led them to push the kind and loving monsters away.

Tragedy struck one night when the king’s life was brutally taken, leading Asgore to ascend to the throne. Blinded by his own growing anger, Asgore sought to avenge his father, and the once kind and loving monsters turned hostile as war was declared against the humans.

The war raged on, with magic clashing and bodies falling. Eventually, humans emerged victorious, and with the help of a powerful mage, they sealed the monsters underground. The Underground was filled with despair and darkness, but the magic of LOVE gradually began to bloom again, restoring harmony among the monsters.

The royal family made certain that their people remained full of LOVE, fearing the resurgence of HATE that had swept the surface. Royal guards were tasked with protecting the Underground by preserving love and happiness, removing those who began to corrupt with hatred, and dealing with any humans who entered their realm.

Chara’s Arrival: After many years after banishment, their peace was interrupted when a human named Chara fell into their midst, seeking refuge from human cruelty. The Dreemurr family adopted Chara despite their initial wariness, it came to be the best decision of their lives as the two kids grew up together.

Tragically, Chara fell terminally ill from consuming red rose seeds, causing them to cough up petals and roses. Before the illness could fully silence them, Chara expressed a dying wish to see the surface sky one last time.

Asriel, their adoptive brother, absorbed Chara's soul and carried them through the barrier that separated their world from the humans. However, upon reaching the surface, they were met with misunderstanding and rage, resulting in the tragic demise of both Asriel and Chara.

The Dreemurr family, torn apart by the loss of their beloved children, decreed that any human who fell into their realm would be imprisoned in the depths of their castle dungeon.

Official Character Illustrations

FAQs [to be updated]

Question 1: What inspired "UnderLove"? Answer 1: [I've always favored the theme of Lovecore and the holiday of Valentine's Day!]

Question 2: How is "UnderLove" different? Answer 2: [UnderLove started off as a simple theme overhaul, with the characters and locations falling into its theme. Yet I wanted it to be unique, so the story follows a different path from Undertale and other AUs]

Question 3: Can I create fanart for "UnderLove"? Answer 3: [Yes! Absolutely! I'd love to see artwork done of these characters! Just make sure to tag me or use the hashtag #UnderLovefanwork so I can see it!]

Question 4: Can I draw my OC depicted in "UnderLove"? Answer 4: [Of course! I'd love to see what their designs turn out to be and how they'd interact with the cast of characters.]

Question 5: Does "UnderLove" have a wiki page? Answer 5: [Yes it does! I created it a while back and I intend to keep it as updated as possible for UnderLove]

Ask Guidelines

Respect: Be kind and respectful in your questions. Any asks that reflect HATE or are disrespectful will be ignored. No NSFW Content: Please refrain from submitting any NSFW content or questions as this blog and AU are intended for all audiences to enjoy.

Topic: Try to keep asks relevant to the blog and UnderLove in general. Any asks that are off-topic may be passed over to my main blog @radicalrainbow

Repetition: Before submitting your ask, check if it has already been answered via the hashtag on the blog #AsksofLove

No Roleplay Asks: While I love the enthusiasm for the characters and its story, this blog is not set up for roleplaying.

Patience: I try to respond to asks as quickly as possible, but response times may vary depending on the volume of questions and the progress of the story. If your ask doesn’t receive an immediate response, please be patient!

UnderLove's story

The official story of "UnderLove" will be told as a written narrative across multiple chapters. Each chapter will feature illustrated titles, and the written story will be accompanied by drawings that bring key scenes to life. These illustrations will help you better visualize the scenes that are being told. Artist Collaboration While I will be the main artist creating these illustrations, I’m excited to announce that other artists can collaborate on this project! If you’re an artist and would like to contribute: Contact Me! Reach out via my Discord handle or send an ask to the blog (please note that anonymous asks won’t be considered). We can discuss how you can get involved and the specific scenes you might illustrate.

All contributing artists will be fully credited, and I’ll link back to your social media profiles so the community can see the amazing work you’ve contributed!

Written Story chapters

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

There's alot more to come to Underlove, so stay determined and keep an eye on this blog for the upcoming story, official artwork, fanart, and updates! Your support and love fuels this story's creation!!

In this world it's Love or be Loved!

#UnderLoveAU #Underlove #undertale #undertale au #utau #utmv #radicalartwork #undertale fandom #artists on tumblr #digital illustration #digital art

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slut-strut-satan · 2 months ago

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Genuinely curious what the experience must be like for anyone who played Veilguard as their first Dragon Age game. Considering what a shock it was catching up on the fucked up lore BioWare decided to conveniently downplay in DAI, what must it be like starting with DATV and it’s ultra sanitized, downright contradictory world lore?

What happens when people who only know the sugarcoated version of the Crows meets Zevran in DAO?

What happens when players who first met Felassan as the Good Boy TM in Solas’ flashbacks learn about the shit he got up to in Masked Empire?

What happens when they learn about Orzimmar, and The Lyrium Trade (which is dominated by Dwarves) or the fact that one of the primary groups using Lyrium are humans, specifically human Templars—aka The Andrastian Chantry.

What’s that got to be like, playing Veilguard as your first DA game, spending all that time with Taash, only to later meet Iron Bull and learn what The Qun is *actually* like.

DATV is so desperately precious about not portraying The Qun in a bad light because they now recognize the implicit racism in its foundations. But the fact remains that *they* still wrote The Qun to be a horrifyingly oppressive nightmare regime where social mobility does not exist, nuclear families do not exist, names do not exist, and some might even argue personal identity itself does not exist. A society where dissenters are either sent to re-education camps or branded savages to be hunted down and slaughtered. Where anyone born a mage is branded a slave, mutilated, put on leashes and used as an object for the entirety of their life?

What’s it like listening to Harding bitch endlessly about the Not-Plight of the Dwarves, only to play DAI or DA2 and chat with Varric, who was born into wealth, actively dismisses any talk of nostalgia for the Dwarven Empire, and learn that actually Dwarves are doing pretty great and the thing that destroyed the majority of their empire was a result of humans fucking around, not the Elves.

Ah yes, those damn Elves. Turns out a few of them did some bad stuff TENS OF THOUSANDS of years ago (that nobody even knew about until now) so I guess they deserve to be the single most abused and persecuted population in Thedas society. I’m sure it’ll feel real good going back to play the first three games after starting with DATV and learn about all the oppression, violence, rape, genocide, etc that BioWare has canonically had heaped upon the Elves. Oppression and violence that are still happening regardless of whether the Devs are too chickenshit to show us.

What’s it going to be like watching the end credits scene from DAI and seeing an entirely different set of events than what was shown in Veilguard.

I’m just really really curious.

#datv critical #veilguard critical #veilguard criticism #fuck this game #fuck you john epler

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kradogsrats · 3 months ago

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Why, Exactly, Did Aaravos's Prison Fail?

Okay, so in order to understand the answer to that question, we first need to understand why it was expected to succeed. For that, we need to rewind a bit and examine the actual design and setup of the prison and its secrets.

When Aaravos was imprisoned, the Jailer split up necessary information about her design between "all" the archdragons, by which we mean it was split three ways, between Rex Igneous, Domina Profundis, and Avizandum/Zubeia:

Except... Avizandum wasn't actually given information about the prison, he was given a way to verify that Aaravos was still inside it:

So there are really only two clues about the prison: it's location (the center of the Sea of the Castout) and it's nature (a pearl).

That wouldn't exactly be a very complicated puzzle, except it takes into account the archdragons' natures and their dynamic with each other. The prison doesn't need to be opened in order to check whether Aaravos is still there, so the archdragons as a whole can't be tricked into opening the prison by making them doubt whether or not he's still safely confined. However, with the mirror as the only way Aaravos could conceivably communicate with the outside world, it's also the main weak point. If Avizandum or Zubeia were somehow compromised by his manipulations, they could conceivably get the other parts of the puzzle and open the prison—except for the fact that (even if they weren't all rivals for the same throne) Avizandum and Rex Igneous have beef, and Zubeia and Domina Profundis have (a much smaller amount) of beef. The trust isn't there for either of them to just hand their key over.

Additionally, it's set up so Rex Igneous physically has the information, but doesn't know it in a way that he can divulge it, and Domina Profundis knows the information, but doesn't have it in a way that can be taken from her. Rex Igneous is a beefy hothead susceptible to manipulation, but he can't tell you the prison's location. You have to kill/incapacitate him and find it. Domina Profundis appears to be more of a talker and is probably a good bit less powerful outside of her element, but killing or incapacitating her means she can't tell you the prison's nature. She has to be convinced.

Then, they erased Aaravos from history, meaning that once he's forgotten, no one can just stumble upon his story and decide to free him. The only way he's getting out is if he can convince and instruct someone through the mirror.

This was actually a pretty dang good plan. It just... didn't work.

Both teams wind up with two of the three clues: Team Stop Aaravos (Callum, Rayla, Ezran, etc.) has the mirror (with Aaravos helpfully confirming for them that he's actively on his way to escape) and the prison's nature. Team Free Aaravos (Claudia, Terry, Viren) has the mirror (and Aaravos's instructions) and the prison's location. Team Stop Aaravos gets the prison's location thanks to Akiyu's security breach, but Team Free Aaravos is able to go straight for the finish line.

Why does Sir Sparklepuff go straight from "lizard in a hat" to "blood of child," with no stop at "lizard with a party tooter"? Well, because there has been a second security breach, all along:

At the time Aaravos was imprisoned, no one knew he was connected to dark mages.

Yes, mages were his prey... but everything Zubeia describes is in terms of psychological manipulation. Despite having "strong minds and strong hearts":

Not "particularly dark mages," or even "particularly humans." Zubeia never even suggests that Aaravos wasn't working both sides of the Border at once (he was).

So this? Completely unanticipated:

Now, presumably that kind of direct, hostile-takeover possession is limited by, say... line-of-sight. (Unless there's an alternate connection, i.e. The Worm.) If Aaravos was able to possess any dark mage at any time, he would not have been in that prison for 300 years.

But there's also this:

and this:

and, of course, this:

Now, Aaravos can obviously also communicate with people within range who aren't dark mages, like Terry. However, because Aaravos himself doesn't know the nature of his prison, he still can't just tell them directly how to find it... except that with a dark mage, he can also sense and influence them. Claudia doesn't need to know the nature of the prison, she just has to get close enough to play Hot-and-Cold with Aaravos until he gets her hands on it.

The prison was, of course, designed by a human mage:

No one has ever said the Jailer was a dark mage, but come on. Presumably she also didn't know about Aaravos's connection to dark magic. Her designing the prison also didn't alert him to the betrayal, so she's unlikely to have been in league with or influenced by him at that point.

I do have to wonder if that's entirely accurate, though... because there's actually a a fourth piece of the puzzle, or at least an element considered as important as the others:

It's unclear exactly what role the staff is expected to play in Aaravos's return, beyond that it needs to be kept away from him and his followers. Presumably if it could be destroyed, it would have been... but given that it survived a direct hit of archdragon fire without even a scorch mark, it seems safe to say that there's no known way to get rid of it.

It's also unclear whether the staff was somehow at play in the events leading up to Aaravos's imprisonment, but where does it eventually turn up after his defeat and the Orphan Queen establishing a new royal line in Katolis? Somewhere that means it has been in the hands of Katolis's high mages for at least three generations, 300-odd years later.

After Viren is defeated at the Storm Spire, however, the staff doesn't go back to Katolis's new high mage—even though Callum is a primal mage, Ezran's brother, and a key participant in returning Zym and defending him and Zubeia. You'd think that, if there had ever been any intent to keep the staff in Katolis, he'd be considered pretty trustworthy. (Aside from being like... fourteen years old.) The Orphan Queen kept the Novablade, after all, and no one seems all that fussed about that. But instead, Zubeia secures the staff in her own hoard at the Storm Spire. This could be just a precaution, with the mirror's location unknown... but it could also be that the staff wasn't meant to stay in human hands.

(Though, I mean... you'd think it would be pretty easy to put together that whoever "killed" the dragon prince probably also took the mirror, and they already know enough about who killed Avizandum to target Harrow and Ezran. I really don't know why Zubeia wasn't like "hey, you don't happen to have recently acquired a weird mirror, have you?" at some point during those two years. Unless we're going to go the route that Ezran didn't realize Callum had the mirror, which would be... something.)

We've also seen that the staff may have an effect similar to, say, the One Ring—influencing whoever possesses it to keep and protect it, even kill and die for it. It does, after all, contain Aaravos's contingency plan (or one of them) for escaping a situation where his spirit is imprisoned in a way that prevents it from returning to the heavens for another alignment cycle. It makes sense that he'd find some way to keep it easily accessible if/when it's needed.

Whether this effect happens for all humans, only for dark mages, or under some other, even more specific criteria isn't totally clear. There are two instances where I think Viren is specifically influenced to take the staff—in Umber Tor, and when he decides to return to Katolis. However, he has to pick it up in Umber Tor because Claudia just kind of... left it? Possibly whatever is exerting the influence, whether it's Aaravos or something about the staff itself (or the quasar diamond), it's smart enough not to make Claudia and Viren go all Smeagol and Deagol on each other. Similarly, Claudia completely abandons the staff with Callum when she escapes after their fight—whether because the staff, without its quasar diamond and importance for freeing Aaravos from his prison, is no longer of particular use to Aaravos, or because he wants Callum to have it.

Anyway, with the Novablade going to Katolis with the Orphan Queen for safekeeping after Aaravos is imprisoned, it seems reasonable enough to assume that's also when the staff made its way there (if it wasn't there already, in the hands of the king or mages Aaravos was manipulating at the time). It also makes sense that if she trusted the Jailer, she would, y'know... let the mage handle the magic shit, like dealing with the staff. Meanwhile, if Aaravos was able to exert just the smallest amount of influence on the Jailer without being found out? Keep the staff would be a very good start to his eventual escape.

Keep it secret, keep it safe. All without realizing who you're keeping it safe for, rather than from. One day, he'll call.

#did i seriously somehow turn this into a staff of ziard meta halfway through BY ACCIDENT? yes #aaravos #the jailer #dark magic #the dragon prince #kradogsmeta

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stardustamaryllis78 · 3 months ago

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I was thinking about Zubeia's info dump about Aaravos and how she calls him a villain for "pulling strings and causing all the world's crisis."

But then I started to think about in season 7 and the conversation between Aaravos and Ezran where Ezran says, "Your crimes cannot be counted Aaravos. But they're remembered by your victims throughout Xadia." Aaravos responds, "It seems you have already decided upon my guilt." To which Ezran responds, "Guilty or not, a king must look into the faces and hear the words of those he judges. Aaravos, what do you have to say for yourself?" Aaravos replies, "I am innocent."

And remember, Aaravos can only tell the truth whereas Zubeia is capable of lying.

So then I started to think about the rest of the conversation and how Aaravos states that the reason he "betrayed" the Dragons and the Elves is because he gave humans magic. This is even backed up with Sol Regem and Rex Igneous calling Aaravos "Betrayer".

So, at the end of the day, it would appear that Zubeia was incorrect about her claims with what Aaravos had done. Aaravos appeared to have been aiding humans, especially humans with magic he gave them but saying he created every world crisis is just outright wrong. Especially as, after he was imprisoned, many crisis' still occurred. He was literally hated for giving magic to what Dragon's and Elves considered to be lesser beings.

Now of course, there is the whole "compromise" thing where of course Aaravos can control Dark Mages if he so wishes but let me put this to you, why didn't he control Viren when he first saw him? Why work with him instead of outright controlling him? Plus, before Callum was purified of Dark Magic, Aaravos possessed him once so he could talk (roast) Team Zym before he dipped, why not just control him there and then? It would appear that Aaravos does not use Dark Mages as vessels very often, if at all, unless he really has to. A back up if you will. Aaravos likes to plan things ahead after all.

Another thing to think about is the fact that literally everyone was saying that if Aaravos was released from his prison, all hell would break loose but what really happened? A few spirits were released and he killed the Archdragons. Aaravos' main goal is to take down an unjust Order even if that villainizes himself.

In conclusion, it seems like at the end of the day, Zubeia's story was heavily exaggerated and Aaravos' biggest "crime" was giving magic to suffering human beings.

Has Aaravos committed crimes? Yes. But a lot of characters in this show have. And at the end of the day, Aaravos taking out the Cosmic Order for a world of equality is actually a good thing in the long run. Even if some of his methods of going about it are questionable.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#the dragon prince #aaravos #im back to yapping #and overthinking again #but its something ive been thinking about #aaravos is right guys #he has committed crimes dont get me wrong #but so has pretty much everyone else #he's doing the wrong thing for the right reason #not all heroes wear capes

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forcefemdemonprincess · 5 months ago

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I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

#forcefemdemonprincess #forcefem #forcefem nsft #forcefem k1nk #corruption k1nk #nsft writing #wizard nsft #succubus nsft #be nice to me I havent written anything like this in a while

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madou-dilou · 24 days ago

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Thoughts on the moral imbalance between humans and Xadia

*The Dragon Prince* presents itself as a story about breaking cycles of violence, about two civilizations learning to coexist, about individuals rising above history’s mistakes. "Breaking the cycle", "Narrative of love instead of narrative of strength". The most symbolic quote of the show being Janai's "I define history. History doesnt make me." On paper, it seems like a fair exploration of war, prejudice, and reconciliation. But beneath this veneer of balance lies a troubling asymmetry: while the worldbuilding suggests an even conflict, the *moral weight* of the story is disproportionately placed on humans.

And I wondered I felt that way, because as a matter of fact, the show does not hesitate to depict Xadian cruelty on multiple occasions.

So I think it has less to do with the message than the execution.

That it's actually completely unintended.

We see it from the very first episode, where humans are driven from their lands in an act of ethnic cleansing. We see it in Runaan's unrepentant racism, in Avizandum’s and Sol Regem's indiscriminate slaughter, in Keesha’s fiery wrath she unleashes in the name of justice on every human she comes accross, in Karim’s supremacist ideology, in Finnegrin's torture of Rayla, in Kim Dael's literal thirst for blood. Xadia is not a utopia.

And yet, these acts of violence, these crimes against humanity, are never truly confronted.

They are treated as regrettable but understandable, the result of individuals rather than a systemic pattern of oppression. Well, Karim's arc, is an attempt at portraying that systemic oppression for he actually has plenty of followers within the population of sunfire elves, but it sadly doesn't suffice for it's treated as violence feeding itself, and the human protagonists themselves convienently never face racism.

Human violence, on the other hand, is never just an individual failing—it is a reflection of humanity itself.

When Viren, Claudia and Callum turn to dark magic, it is not just their personal descent but a cautionary tale about human ambition and desperation. When Soren attempts to take down a dragon that just burned a town to the ground, he is framed as part of the problem, a cog in the ever-turning wheel of revenge. When the protagonists we're suposed to root for chop the childhood friend's leg off, no one among them gives a damn because she's a dark mage. Even Ezran, a child who has never harmed anyone, spends much of his time trying to *prove* that humans deserve a place in the world, as if their right to exist in peace is something that must be earned. When thousands of humans get killed at the end of season 3, they happen to have convienently turned into monsters by their leader Viren, so it's portrayed as the necessary victory of good over evil, with no reflection at all upon the weight of their ugly deaths in a show that prides itself on being anti-war!

Hundreds thousands of humans are killed by a human in an anti-War show and it's presented as a victory of good over evil. What lesson are we supposed to learn from this?

There is no clearer example of this imbalance than Callum’s relationship with magic. Dark magic uses organic matter to function but is portrayed as morally unforgivable no matter the circumstances, even when it doesn't kill or provoke pain to get fueled, for it's vaguely supposed to evoke all the bad versants of "exploitation", concepts like scientism, pollution or rape. Yet as far as anyone knows, dark magic is the *only* way for humans to wield the forces of the world. It is dangerous, yes, but so is every form of power in Xadia—it is no more inherently evil than a dragon's ability to burn someone alive or an elf's ability to suck someone's blood dry. And yet, when Callum is forced to use dark magic to save his friends, the act is treated as so vile, so soul-destroying, that he spirals into suicidal despair. His use of dark magic is not just a mistake—it is a *moral failure*, a stain on his very being. He crushed two already dead corpses of slugs but his soul is somehow stained almost beyond repair.

But when Callum somehow gains an Arcanum, the kind of magic elves and dragons are simply *born with*, it is framed as an evolution, something to be celebrated. Never mind that the Ocean Arcanum was just shown to be capable of torturing a girl to death. Never mind that moon magic was used in episode one to force a child to kill an even younger child. Never mind that humans have spent centuries barely surviving, with dark magic as their only tool in a world designed to exclude them. Callum uses on Claudia the Ventus Frigoris spell that was previously used in front of him to torture Rayla, and I only noticed that because a fan pointed it out : it's not addressed.

I would add that all though the show starts and presents itself as a nuanced exploration of war, oppression, and cycles of violence, its underlying framework is actually an ecological parable. Instead of examining human conflicts with complexity, the show depicts a world where humans represent destructive civilization, while magical beings—especially dragons and elves—embody a lost natural harmony.

The story frames humans as inherently greedy and short-sighted, their struggle for survival reduced to exploitation. Dark magic serves as a metaphor for environmental destruction—presented not as a tool that can be used responsibly, but as an inherently corrupting force. Meanwhile, magical creatures are positioned as righteous victims, their own wars and greed either ignored or excused.

Meanwhile, human suffering—starvation, war, or displacement—is dismissed as self-inflicted.

The show frames humans as an unnatural force that disrupts the balance of the world. They are the only sapient beings who cannot wield primal magic, and their only means of survival is through dark magic—metaphorized as industrial exploitation. This framing strips them of moral complexity; their struggles are not seen as political, social, or even practical, but as a fundamental flaw in their very nature.

This bias is explicitly voiced through characters like Keesha, an elf who spits out her racist belief that all humans are parasites. The show never challenges her view—instead, it validates it visually and narratively. Viren, a human who embodies intelligence and ambition, is transformed as she speaks into a literal parasite monster through dark magic, reinforcing the idea that human striving is inherently corrupting.

The series does not invite viewers to see the human perspective. Viren’s desperation to save Katolis from famine is not explored as a tragic necessity but condemned as villainous. When Ezran is challenged, it's either by angry morons or people who are left off-screen. Visually and narratively, the show reinforces this bias. In season 7, when Ezran finally considers defending Katolis from dragon attacks, the cinematography echoes earlier scenes depicting Viren’s villainy. The message is clear: even self-defense is framed as morally suspect when it is humans who do it.

The narrative does not care about these contradictions. According to it, dark magic is human, and therefore a corruption. The Arcanum is Xadian, and therefore a gift.

I don't mind the contradictions itself, but the way the show doesn't adress it : for example, Runaan, who, as an efficient assassin whose credo consists on taking as little lives as possible lives while respecting life's inner value, also happens to have been tortured, should revile useless suffering. He could tell Callum to stop torturing Claudia, and Callum refuses to, arguing, to Runaan's horror, it's a necessity : therefore Viren's logic of "necessary sacrifices" isn't just a byproduct of dark magic but is applicable to any sort of power.

Viren saves Katolis with the exact spell he used to protect his soldiers from the fire, and which back then had allowed the protagonists to kill all of them without a second thought -yet as the spell is revealed to actually have no dehumanizing effect at all, the protagonists conveniently never are put in front of this and therefore never face the implication : it means they actually did kill real people back then at the battle of the Storm Spire, and their peace was built on ground saturated with blood they spilled. I'm repeating myself, but I wouldn't mind this if the show took time to address that. And since it doesn't, it's clearly unintended.

Another example of that is the way no one wonders what Callum's access to magic, or the Cosmic order's murder of Leola, means. Everyone thought human magic was impossible up until this point, and Ezran reveals in a dialog after the timeskip that it's now known that Callum actually isn't the first. This discovery completely changes how the power imbalance between Xadians and humans was thought of : turns out it isn't natural, but orchestrated by the Cosmic Order. But the show doesn't seem to realize this at all.

It is not that TDP paints Xadians as perfect -it really doesn't, but that it never truly demands introspection from them. An angry mob chases Rayla down because she is an Elf, but the moonshadow children (whom we have all reason to think are being raised by the same "Nothing in humans is worth mercy" principles as Runaan was), are somehow absolutely adorable to Callum because systematic prejudice apparently doesn't exist in Xadia. When Ezran preaches peace, it is always humanity that must rise to the occasion. When Viren falls, his downfall is treated as the natural consequence of human arrogance. When Zubeia, the widow of a king who murdered countless humans, steps in to help the heroes, she is never asked to even acknowledge her people’s past crimes. She is simply accepted.

The show *does* depict Xadian atrocities (the ethnic cleansing of humans, the unprovoked burning of towns, Avizandum's indiscriminate slaughters), but these events are not treated as a moral burden for Xadia to bear. In contrast, human violence is always tied to questions of morality, accountability, and cycles of vengeance. When Viren commits atrocities, they are framed as moral failings that demand consequences. When Avizandum, a random red dragon or even Ezran kills humans (he kind of tried to burn thousands of people alive), it is either ignored, excused, or at best framed as an unfortunate necessity. Sol Regem is the only dragon portrayed as a monster. Zubeia, despite her attempts at killing Harrow and Ezran that kickstarted the shows, is never once portrayed as having any *moral obligation* to recognize this crime or even human suffering. Ezran straight-up defends Aviandum's massacres, saying it was all to protect Xadia, and no one bats an eye, not even Callum, who lost Sarai at his hands as she was preventing a famine he caused. Plus, Callum sadly actually knew her, on contrary to Ezran.

The season 2 scene where a dragon burns a human town is one of the most glaring examples of this bias. The dragon’s actions are never explained, never questioned, and never even *remembered* by anyone. Soren, who wants to kill the dragon *after* it has already committed mass murder for no reason, is framed as the real problem.

Viren, for all his hubris, eventually spends three seasons agonizing over his remorse, failures, self-hatred and desperation. Soren acknowledges his wrongs and grows from them. Even Claudia shows guilt over what she does. But no Xadians express remorse over the sufferings of humans, including literal ethnic cleansing. Karim is too much of an idiot, constantly humiliated and getting a ridiculously funny death, to be a believable threat; and Janai never seems to struggle against her own old prejudice, it's just gone.

Xadians are allowed to move on from their history without reckoning with it. Humans are not. And so, despite its gestures toward nuance, *The Dragon Prince* remains a story where only one side is asked to do reflective criticism.

Mind you, I wouldn't mind any of that if it were intentional. I would even praise it. It would then show incredible protagonists whose naivete fails to acknowledge that peace isn't peace if only the side that is still a victim of a huge imbalance of power reflects and atones.

The show, in Arc II, almost succeeds in this when portraying Ezran's failed diplomatic feast. But since anyone who opposes Ezran either is portrayed as a brat (Viren, Kaseef, Karim) or not given a voice or even an appearance at all (who tore this portrait and why?), it fails - but how are we supposed to understand Soren's side when he says anyone who disagrees with Ezran's policy deserves to be eaten by Zubeia?

And the show almost succeeded in portraying complexity when Ezran himself, hit in his heart twice in a row when Sol destroyed his home and Runaan was set free without first taking accountability, eventually takes measures to ensure Xadia never attacks again (the show even frames him in similar angles and words than Viren). But it comes way too late.

And the show almost succeeds at portraying complexity when the archdragons are given an entire memorial in the cemetery of their victims but Viren's very name is entirely erased while he just sacrificed himself saving Katolis - and also prevented literal famines. It is a golden opportunity to reflect upon selective memory. But since that erasure, all though carefully thought out as a punishment for Viren by the narrative, is never addressed or brought upon by any of the characters (I don't know, something like, "He did great things. Terrible things, but great things as well." "However controversial he was, he did save us more than once" "Are you mad? Others might be tempted to follow his example." "I agree. This is something we have the duty to prevent. We can't let the future generations abide by his justifications and crimes." "Crown guard Soren, what are your thoughts on this matter?" "Do as you see fit. This ... man... wasn't my father. Whatever his legacy is, I will have no part in it."), it instead feels like it's so obvious it shouldn't even be discussed. Granted, the show does the same with Karim, who justifies his supremacist views appealing to History, only to be crushed by it as a really fun gag. But since Viren actually had a point, on contrary to Karim, his erasure feels unfair.

However, I just did a huge generalization... for have to adress the case of Runaan!

Runaan, as an assassin who carried out Xadian orders, is the *only* Xadian character who is truly forced to reckon with his actions. He killed Harrow not as a lone rogue actor as I thought until season 7 since Zubeia's role is completely ignored, but as an agent of Xadian authority—Zubeia’s authority. And yet, when the time comes for accountability, he is alone in his guilt.

Runaan's guilt is genuine, a weight he carries throughout. He doesn’t ask to be excused. He acknowledges that the culture he was raised in was toxic. He doesn’t demand that Ezran absolve him. He simply acknowledges what he has done and begs for forgiveness, fully aware that he may never receive it. This is, ironically, the *most balanced* approach to morality the show has ever taken.

But it comes too late. Seven seasons too late. And worse, it is *undone* by the revelation that Harrow was alive all along. What could have been a powerful moment—a Xadian finally confronting the weight of their actions, without excuse or justification—is cheapened by the show’s refusal to let the consequences be real. If Harrow is still alive, then Runaan didn’t truly take anything irreparable from anyone.

And so the show wastes its one opportunity to truly explore Xadian accountability. Runaan is an outlier, a singular case that never expands into a larger conversation. Meanwhile, Zubeia, who is the one who gave Runaan the order to kill Harrow, is never asked to answer for it. She remains the benevolent dragon queen, taxi-driving the protagonists while avoiding any real introspection -aside from a short story. Ezran is the one who has to do all the diplomacy work.

If *The Dragon Prince* had committed to this moment earlier then perhaps the show could have made good on its premise of breaking cycles. But instead, it falls into its old habit: absolving Xadians without demanding growth, while humans continue to bear the weight of history alone. Humans who commit atrocities are framed as reflections of humanity’s *inherent* tendency toward war and destruction. For example, the very late reveal in Book 7 that it was the humans that devastated their own lands because of their greed feels like an attempt at ignoring the ethnic cleansing and oppression Xadia submitted them to in the first place.

In season 6, we are told the story of how Leola got murdered by the Cosmic Order a few centuries ago because she taught Primal Magic to humans. This knowledge was erased, leaving Aaravos as its sole bearer : yet despite Callum's status as the first human wielding Primal Magic for centuries, this discovery never is shown to recontextualize the past and recent history between Xadians and Humans, and Callum's safety is never compromised by the Cosmic Order. And the heroes are never shown as to unknowingly enforce an unfair status-quo. As they are fighting Aaravos, they are simply portrayed as defeating Evil. The Cosmic Order never appears or reacts to any of Aaravos or Callum's actions, leaving us to wonder if Aaravos just made them up so Claudia and the viewer would side with him.

And then, there’s Viren. The character who has borne the *entire* moral weight of the show’s conflict from the very beginning. The one who suffers, agonizes, and ultimately dies twice—first as a so-called “Disney villain,” then as a broken man who finally understands the cost of his choices. But even in his lowest moments, even in his most genuine sacrifices, the show never gives him a pass.

In Arc I, he was a clear victim of the Magneto syndrome, the narrative trick where a character fighting against oppression is deliberately villainized to prevent the audience from engaging with their ideas. Viren, despite being the only character who directly challenges Xadia’s superiority, is not ultimately not allowed to remain the nuanced character he was first portrayed as. Instead, he is turned into a *Disney villain*, complete with glowing eyes, sadism, Nazi references and sinister smiles, so that his ideology can be dismissed without true debate. His valid criticisms of Xadian arrogance, his recognition of the inherent power imbalance between humans and elves, his warnings that peace is impossible when one side is forced to *earn* its existence—all of it is buried under the weight of his aesthetic villainy.

This is why his death at the end of the first arc is the moment the show brushes aside all of Xadia’s wrongs, all its atrocities, in the name of peace. With Viren gone, with the “evil human” defeated and all of his convienently monsterified humans killed, the story no longer has to acknowledge the legitimacy of his fears. There is no reckoning for the ethnic cleansing of humanity. No reflection on how Xadians have treated humans as disposable. No examination of the *reasons* that led Viren to act in the first place. His death is not just the end of his character—it is the *erasure* of his argument. When the exact thing Viren was fearing eventually happens to the capital in season 6, all though Ezran in season 7 does finally acknowledge that maybe it's not a good idea to have no protection when your immediate neighbors are dragons, he is framed in evil angles as he is taking dispositions.

Viren is not allowed to move on from his mistakes the way Xadians are. He is never given the luxury of having his violence framed as an unfortunate necessity, despite constantly refering to this concept. His use of dark magic, even when it is to *save lives*, is treated as an unforgivable sin - he only needed Lissa's tears to save their dying boy and the show had the audacity to frame that as rape, while Callum’s acquisition of an Arcanum—something that should be equally terrifying, given how we’ve seen it used for torture—is treated as a glorious evolution.

Unlike Zubeia, unlike Janai, unlike any Xadian character who has benefited from systemic oppression with the exception of Runaan, Viren is expected to bear his sins until the very end. As he asks for anyone to listen to him after he learned the errors of his ways, he is told he doesn't deserve any mercy. He started his last season finally free yet ends it trapped in a cell, framed as a butterfly caught in a spider's web, spiraling in further despair. He decides to burn his note to Soren, where he explains his guilt, and thus carries it with him to the grave. And after he sacrificed himself to save a city, he is eventually completely forgotten by history, not even getting mentioned by any of the characters while the Archdragons have an entire memorial built in a cemetery full of their victims. I understand putting past grievances behind, but what would Xadians think of a memorial to Viren built right in the middle of Lux Aurea?

Killing the princes, the false-flag operation, destroying Lux, all that was bad. I'm not saying he was right on everything. But the show won't really acknowledge that he was actually right on *anything*. The truth—the one the show refuses to fully acknowledge—is that Viren was right about far more than the story allows. He was right about dark magic being humanity’s only means of survival, right about the hypocrisy of Xadian arrogance, right about the *inevitability* of conflict when one side is forced to constantly prove its worth. And yet, even as the world validates his warnings, even as the destruction he predicted comes to pass in season VI, he remains the villain. Ezran is framed similarly as he was, using the same shot composition, poses and vocabulary but no one ever says "Damn, he actually had a point." Because TDP was never interested in truly engaging with his perspective—it only ever wanted him to serve as a cautionary tale to this lesson :

It's not the oppressors who must reckon with their people's crimes but the oppressed who must prove themselves deserving of peace.

The show doesn’t even seem aware of what it is doing. It is not an assumed narrative choice that would say "Two obstacles to peace there are : prejudice on both sides, and when only one side agrees to make concessions." No, this bias is accidental and that’s what makes it so frustrating.

It's so terribly sad because I think it's completely unintended.

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp critical #tdp salt #anti tdp #Tdp thoughts #tdp analysis #Magnéto syndrome #Tdp xadia #tdp criticism #The dragon prince salt #The dragon prince criticism #tdp book 7 #protagonist-centered morality #centrist

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zweetpea · 9 months ago

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The Hatchling and The Cursed Princess

For @liuaneee

Once upon a time there was a princess-

“Hold on hold on! That’s so cliche!” Scara had the audacity to interrupt me. Anyway so it all started a long time ago-

“Audacity? This is my love story!”

Excuse you? Boy sit down before I make you sleep on the couch!

Anyway… where was I?

“Not so long ago?” He reminded.

Fine (¬_¬) it wasn’t so long ago. An old witch had been snubbed- really? Not gonna say anything?

“Nah, you’re spitting facts.”

Okay so the old hag had not been invited to the baby shower of the princess. 6 other Mages and their familiars were invited. They all gave the princess lovely gifts.

Venti and the dragon of the Winds gave the princess a beautiful voice. Zhongli and the drake of the Earth gave the princess the gift of loyalty. Nahida and the Aranara of the Flora gave the princess an exceptional mind (both brilliant and wise). Furina and the dragon of the Waters gave her beauty both inside and out. Murata and her dragon of flames gave her strength of will. And The Tsarista and her jester gave her true love.

Everyone was- boy what are you smirking at?

“nothing.” Scara barely tried to hid his smirk. “Hey! Don’t call me out.” He chuckled.

Anyway everyone was laughing and cheering and just when all the gifts had been handed out the Witch of the land far far away had appeared in a cloud of purple mist.

“A party? Without me?” She glared at the king and queen.

“We were very frightened.” Thanks mom. Note the sarcasm.

So the old ugly witch walked over to the king and queen who held their baby. Her familiar the Kitsune of lightning sat on her shoulder. She held out her hand and recited a spell.

“On the girl’s 20th birthday she will prick herself on an Electrograna thorn and die!”

Everyone cried out in horror as she summoned a strike of lightning and disappeared. The king and queen were devastated. They resolved not to loose their baby so they burned all the electrograna in the land and kept their baby under 24 hour surveillance at the castle.

“Because seriously, who decides “oh yeah let’s keep her safe by sending her away where we can’t look after her”?” Scara spitting facts there.

So the princess grew up surrounded by love and protection. One day she met an adorable cat, his fur the color of midnight. “Hello little kitty.” She said and in response the kitty nuzzled his face into her hand. “I’m gonna keep you.” She picks him up and walks into her room. She named the cat midnight after its beautiful black fur.

She’d sneak him lots of fish but after a few days the cat revealed his true form as a young boy around the same age as her.

“please no more fish.” He whined. “No I didn’t!”

Yes you did!

“I do not whine.”

Fine you begged. “I don’t do that either!”

Do you want to tell the story?

“gladly. She fell in love at first sight with me and my awesome powers-”

Okay that’s enough! The cat boy asked for something other than fish.

“acceptable.”

So the princess and the boy snuck through the castle to get the boy some bread and eggs. “Midnight. Why are you human.”

“Mine name isn’t Midnight. It’s… Scaramouche.”

“Nice to meet your Scara.” She shook his hand.

“Nice for you to meet me too princess.” They smiled at each other.

Over the years the two of them became the closest of friends. She watched him study magic. And he would do tricks for her.

Around her 20th birthday-

“Wait wait wait! You’re going to skip 15 years?! But so much happened in that time! The time I almost died falling out of a tree and you caught me. The time I transformed into a black leopard and mauled a guy for kissing you. Your 18th birthday-”

We are not going to mention my 18th birthday.

“You looked pretty in pink lace though.”

Scara! Do not be a perv right now! Anyway it was around the princess’s 20th birthday-

“Okay skip the best part of that day but tell the rest of that story at least!”

The- the best part!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE BEST PART!!

“just saying.”

Stop being a perv or get out!

“Okay I’ll stop but tell the rest of the story!”

Okay, okay. “My dear scara comes back today!” The princess cheered as she ran through the halls. He had left three years before to go to this magic academy.

After the “incident” with him-

“the third greatest moment in my life.”

The princess and- third!?

“First is a three way tie between our wedding and the kids births”

So what’s the second?

“Our wedding night.”

Wipe that smirk off your face! Anyway the princess came to properly greet her friend after three years of being apart. Only to find another girl snuggling up to him, he however didn’t look all that pleased to be there.

“Scara? Who’s this?” Her smile was strained.

“I’m Mona. I’m courting him.” She said with a smirk.

“No she’s not!” “Well she wasn’t doing a very good job. I didn’t want her to.”

I know Scara. Anyway the princess smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you Mona. I didn’t know women could court me.”

“It’s probably not something you need to think about considering you’ll have an arranged marriage. Who’s the viscount you’ll be marrying?” She asked insincerely.

“It’s me- “considering what happened this morning.”

Hey! I’m trying to tell the story.

“Well I remember what I said that day.”

Stop interrupting me! Anyway Scara assured the princess Mona was just a classmate. Barely an acquaintance of his.

Anyway on the-

“You’re not going to talk about how you beat the crap out of Mona when she kissed me?”

I did that to avenge you after her assault.

“It was just a kiss.”

That happened without your consent! That’s assault! Anyway So on the princess’s 20th birthday her parents held a party for her.

“My dear Scara. I do hope you’ll accompany me to my Party tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looked away ashamed. “Shut up.”

You did. Anyway the princess responded, “But, I really want to share this moment with you. Mother and Father said that after Tonight I could roam the world as I please. Tonight is my last night in the palace for a while. Plus I want the first face of the night to go to you. Please?”

“Fine.” He said against his better judgment.

“I thought it was worth it when she gave me a hug right after.” Cut it out you cheese ball.

It was later that night and the princess had dressed up in a beautiful purple dress to match Scaramouche’s purple suit. He took her hand in the ball room as many of the older nobles gasped and glared. She didn’t care, she was having the time of her life in his arms. Stop smirking Scara. Anyway after the dance the monarchs tore their daughter away from him.

“Get away from her you monster!” The King yelled.

“Father what are you doing?!”

“Sweetheart you don’t know what you’re doing. This is Kunikuzushi. He’s the son of The Witch Raiden! His mother cursed you to die today!” The king explained.

“Well he’s not her! He didn’t curse me!” She exclaimed. “I want him here!”

“WHY?!” The king exclaimed in terror.

“Because I love him!” The ballroom fell silent upon her declaration.

“I- I should go.” Scara looked down and walked away curling in on himself.

“Scara wait!” The princess called to him but it was too late. She started to run after him, but the guards kept her in place. “Let me go father!”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do! I love him! I can’t live without him!” She shouted.

“You said that?” Shut up.

She slipped away from the guards and ran out to look for him. “Scara! Scaramouche! Come back please!” But it was too late. He was gone and she was taken back to her room by the guards.

After a while of the princess crying a woman appeared on her balcony. “My my. What a cute little pet my son has.” She came over to the princess.

“Stay away!” She scooted to the back of her bed.

“tsk tsk tsk. Silly girl I’m here to help. Your father slighted me 20 years ago and when I called him out for it he made up lies about me. Why do you think you’ve never heard anyone tell you about a curse before?”

“I… I don’t know?”

“You said you love my baby, right?”

“I do! I love Scara- Kuni more than anything. More than my own life.”

The witch grinned at this. “Then give me your hand and I shall take you to him.” Without a second thought the princess reached out and took the witch’s hand.

“ow!” She shrieked as the witch revealed a small Electrograna thorn in her hand. The world became dark. The witch cackled as she ran everyone else out of the castle.

A few hours later Scara showed up to save the princess! It wasn’t easy and (he had to kill his mom who’d turned herself into a dragon) but it was worth it in the end.

Until he got to the tower and saw her lying on the ground. He tried an assortment of different spells to revive her. He hadn’t known one had worked and so he held her in his arms and placed one kiss on her lips. A final farewell to his love.

“That’s weak for a first kiss. How about you come over here and give me a proper one?”

“You’re alive!” He exclaimed and hugged her.

“All thanks to you.” She kissed him again.

“Okay why is what I did fine but what Mona did is Assault?” I told you I loved you a few hours beforehand, you had my consent. You always have my consent to kiss me.

Anyway so the King and Queen came back and accepted Scaramouche as one of their own citizens. Then a few months later the two got married.

“And that is how your father and I got together.”

Bonus:

“Happy birthday Mama!” The children cheered in unison. Their mother opened up the box to find a Lolita style pink lacy dress. They had the idea because of what their dad said in the story. However he was referring to different garments at the time, though they’d have no way of knowing that.

Needless to say she was not pleased.

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invinciblerodent · 9 months ago

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Okay I feel like my experience of DAI might be a bit.... I guess I could say unique? because my main Inquisitor is a human who is a devout Andrastian, AND pro-mage/pro-elf (it's a long story, he goes through some Character Development), but since last night's post, i've been mentally pacing up and down, thinking about how the "truth vs. lies" narrative throughline applies to Vivienne and her personal quest.

Because... well, hers is the only one (iirc) where you can choose to lie to her. Not tell her to keep up a lie (Blackwall), or lie because she's asking you to lie (Sera), or to conceal what she's discovered (Cassandra), but just straight up lie to her face when she's expecting the truth, and whether she's lying to you or not in general is not even the focal point at that juncture: she just comes to you requesting help, and you can either give it, or deny her.

And regardless of what you do, the facts, the events, don't change, which is what gets me. Nothing tangible happens if you decide to screw her over: whether you give her the heart of a snowy wyvern or just a regular gurgut, her formula will always fail, and Bastien dies. The only difference your lie makes is in her feelings about you, and in her knowing that you're not above stabbing her in the back.

Because if you do choose to accept her request (even though you can just turn it down, and nothing happens besides some approval loss), agree to help her, and then betray her, Vivienne knows. I don't think the game says when she finds out (be it while preparing the potion and she just forges on, hoping that it'll work anyway, or upon looking into it after it fails to see why it failed), but she tells you that much: that she is well aware of your deception, and she doesn't mince her words in voicing her contempt for you.

And man, Vivienne in general is just so fascinating to me.

I mean, she's simultaneously one of the most honest and caring companions, and also one of the ones with the clearest ulterior motives. She, like Bull, basically comes right out the gate and tells you the moment you meet her that she is in this for the power and the opportunity that you present, essentially admitting to you that you are little more than a stepping stone, and early on, her approval can swing wildly: maybe more than for any other companion. And what I keep noticing about that is that these swings are most affected by conversations, where you can lie, far more than your actions, which kind of leads me to believe that she either values your agreeing with her, or in other kinds of setups, you having the good sense to tell her what she wants to hear even if it's not true.

And like, I don't have the brain power at the moment to dissect her deep-seated fears and caution, how her general disapproval tends to boil down to risks and danger, and her whole Deal with why she, as a mage, is so opposed to mage freedom, I'd have to replay the game again to be able to articulate all my thoughts and feelings on that, but it just..... It generally fascinates me how her approval can be maxed out through pretty much conversation alone, while making all the "good" but risky choices that she disapproves of (mage alliance with full freedom, allied wardens, etc.), and before you'd even talk about Bastien's family with her.

And, if she sees an ally in you, man, she's so kind. If she likes you, she's one of the only people to ask you if you're alright after Haven, she offers advice and tries to help the best way she can, and she approves of helping the people of Haven, and of you "yes, and"-ing her, and not wallowing in empty platitudes but letting her have her space to mourn how she wants to, and I just......

Gaaah, I love Vivienne and I keep thinking about her. She makes a terrible fucking Divine, but I just... I'm just looking at her with stars in my eyes, ready to agree with whatever she says and then fuck off to do the exact opposite, knowing that I got a good grade in agreeing with her anyway.

#squirrel plays dragon age #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #vivienne de fer #just. i didn't mention her in the first post because it's just. a lot #she's a lot and my thoughts are all over and complex and weird #and my inquisitor going from average Andrastian Marcher noble to radical kinda-agnostic-don't-ask freedom-fighter throughout the story #is just very important to me ykwim #he witnessed horrors for the first time in his life and went “wait a minute actually i CAN stop that from happening”#and then he did #truly a guy for all time

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windmaedchen-oceanhorn · 14 days ago

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Lyceum Days Headcanons

Explanations around Merlin, Erin and Cyran up until the Second Divine War and Merlin's reawakening.

About Merlin/Erin

Since Merlin and Erin go through their various cycles regularly, they have established a certain narrative about their backgrounds. Usually, the people they befriend during any of these cycles don't know their true origin or purpose (the latter being not entirely clear to the pair either).

Here's the story they tell: "They are both adopted and raised by an old couple of mages, who lived secluded in the Mystical House. They left their children a small fortune, enough to comfortably focus on their education until they both have chance to support themselves again. Their parents died recently, however, leaving them alone to take care of themselves."

That usually explains their home, their affinity to magic and comfortable appearance. They have even created a "reading room", which is said to have been the master bedroom of the house, which includes some memorabilia of their "parents". These memorabilia are actually truly little treasures received from their friends throughout their many cycles.

Merlin has established the Mystical House fairly early after the First War, but it grew and developed over the cycles.

The camelossus is a recent addition to the Mystical House. After Merlin graduated, he travelled and visited the Ashen Wastes among others. When he created the oasis for the Uru Clan he also picked up Giga.

I did the math, and assuming they chose to reset their memories every 70-100 years, they would be in their 27th cycle. There are certain long-term memories that won't be erased and remain as certainties or instincts. Most importantly, knowing each other, of course. Then also having known Dura and Ygdris personally, or that Erin has a brother (even if she forgot who exactly). Erin will still know everything about her origins and race including the care she should take with her identity.

A lot of their time is dedicated to meticulous records of history and magic developments. These are built upon as time goes on but nothing is ever thrown away. Given that all human societies have their historical records sometimes very carefully curated and much is purposefully lost, the library in the MH is of unimaginable worth. It serves the purpose to "remember" things if necessary. Both Merlin and Erin will have their own little sections, carefully guarded from any third party access, as these would include very personal records.

Yes, if only Merlin would spend 20 years to read through his library to find the relevant information, his amnesia would be history. xD

There are things that haven't been recorded, though, like more detailed reason how the First Divine War started, how Merlin was truly created, how Dura sealed Ygdris away, etc).

(And THIS amnesia is different and maybe the solution suggested wouldn't be quite as straight forward)

Since each cycle offers a lot of time, both Merlin and Erin chose one or other profession to master. They have chosen among others:

mages (obviously, since Merlin himself created the Lyceum once)

craftsmen (tailors, jewelers but also stuff like wood or metal workers)

chefs (they once had a really good and very popular restaurant and guesthouse in the capital)

musicians and composers (Merlin excelled at being a conductor, while Erin was better at composing)

architects (one or other building they have designed even still stands!)

...

Lyceum Days

For this current cycle, Merlin and Erin decided to return to the Lyceum, as students first, then as teachers. They wanted to update their magical records as well as have Merlin check on the current status of magical development and enhance it.

Since Merlin can adjust his appearance, he entered the Lyceum at around 15/16 of visual age and graduated at around 23-ish. Same for Cyran, except it's his true age.

Erin is not so adept at changing her appearance and joined a little later, at around 19. She appears to be in her 20 eternally.

It was Erin that showed interest in Cyran first and dragged him into the relationship. He had gotten some looks by girls at that time, of course, but he was overall a little unapproachable, as he kept to himself for his studies. Erin and Cyran ended up visiting some obscure lectures together and quickly connected over their studies. It took Erin half a year but they became a couple before Cyran hit 20.

Cyran can be a suspicious and insecure fellow. It took him a while to accept that Erin and Merlin were "siblings" rather than lovers.

(Erin and Merlin NEVER had anything going on, btw, in not a single cycle ever. ;-)

There are possibilities to live on campus, which was used by Cyran at first, but since he learned how to use the waystones, he prefers his own room at home. Merlin and Erin also come from and go back to the MH every day.

Erin and Cyran had to go out often (since neither could bring the other home easily at first) and ended up finding a quiet place that allowed comfortable sitting and drinking until late, plus and most importantly, had a large dance floor. The dancing became a huge passion for both, especially as the focus was on various ballroom suited dances, definitely matching Cyran's taste for this more strenuous activity.

Cyran couldn't really bring Erin to his home often (just a few occasions when they strictly did some studies). Erin hesitated at first to bring Cyran to the MH, since every visitor always had questions about its origin, but when their relationship became more intimate, Merlin made some adjustments, so as to allow Cyran to come and go without granting him full access.

Erin told Cyran about 2 years into their relationship that she probably can't have kids (being infertile) and Cyran was more than okay with that. He never thought of children as anything other than an obligation and chore left to any woman he would be unfortunate enough to be forced to wed.

He never proposed. They did talk about it at some point but quickly agreed that given Cyran's family situation, it was best not to pursue that direction. (He'd be disowned for choosing a nameless commoner.)

Cyran's family did try to find a suitable match but while he was with Erin he tried his best to subtly evade the deal. After Erin left, he openly refused a union.

Merlin and Cyran graduated in the same year. While Cyran became Court Mage, Merlin decided to travel a little. And on his own, too!

Erin remained two years longer at the Lyceum for her historical research. Merlin left the MH behind for her (and Cyran) to use.

During those two years Erin learned a lot if not all formal etiquette, as she often visited Cyran at the palace. Such surrounding was never naturally her thing but she certainly did enjoy displaying elegance and pride when having the opportunity to dance there.

Erin noticed Cyran's interest in dangerous and forbidden magic, of course, but always admired his determination to study. She considered telling him the truth as she wagered he might actually be happy to have a Hypogean partner. But before she could do so, he in turn decided to entrust her with something else, sealing their fate.

Cyran probably was invited to the cult after joining the cesspool of personalities at the palace, who know exactly who to pick to fill their legacy. He wanted to share his growing fascination with the Great Will and his teachings and so decided to bring Erin to a very small ceremony.

Not that Erin ever consciously ran from Ygdris, knowing full well that he was unable to act, nor did she actually feel to be in the wrong and afraid. But she seemed to always have avoided these places. She tried to stick through it, for Cyran's sake, but when she thought the Great Will beckoned her directly, she ran away, terrified.

Cyran apologised that night but there was nothing he could do.

The next day, Erin broke up with him. His association with this cult would not end, even if he were to promise it now. He would continue to love her, yes, but he could never, possibly protect her from the Great Will. Erin was still forced to be careful with Celestials, for her survival's sake. But she realised that the care she had to take from her master was infinitely bigger. And thus, Cyran had suddenly become a man she loved but could never be close again.

As a parting gift, she left him a magically locked box. It included a small vial of her own blood, aimed at saving his life once should he ever need it. The other item was a small book containing the most dangerous of Dark Magic spells. Erin's the kind of person, willing to create a monster, if only it means the mastery and application of knowledge and skill. At least, she is also willing to strike that very same monster down, if need be.

Erin leaves and joins Merlin.

Cyran didn't take that break-up very well, obviously. He hid even more behind his mask, moving forward alone. He never had any partners again afterwards. Neither did Erin, but that's also because she was gone for 20 years without being actually able to.

Afterwards, Cyran would, on occasion, invite ladies to his chambers. You'd think that he couldn't do so subtly enough in the palace and risk his spotless reputation? Well, you'd be wrong. The entire palace knows and ignores such thing, as these are common ongoings anyway (and for people with much higher status than a Court Mage, too. When I said "cesspool" earlier, it was for a reason. These are the same people that General Lorenzis offered his work to later on.).

Merlin returned to the Lyceum after 2 or 3 years of traveling. He was lucky to meet a former professor who told him about the upcoming position. Merlin didn't exactly apply, he just showed up and said "I'll be there tomorrow!". xD (He probably winged the entire time being a teacher there.)

Erin stayed away from the capital. She still lived in the MH (at a new location, so that Cyran couldn't find it) but she joined the Evergreen Consortium as a scholar and traveled until the war...

Cyran managed to open the box he was gifted shortly before the war. He couldn't study the book to its entirety but it still enhanced his abilities greatly. He probably needed to use Erin's life saver as well, but that could be reserved for a much later point, too.

In the war, as things got serious and the country needed to operate on emergency setting, Erin and Merlin united again to help.

I am not sure when and how Hogan comes in, but latest by that war they had become good friends and fought quite a few battles together.

I envision that Erin might help to provide crucial information about the enemy at that time but not without endangering her secret, not least because pesty Celestials wouldn't hesitate to strike her down.

She will meet Cyran by chance, since he is on the battlefield as one of the surviving Court Mages. He knows what she is at that point, but they don't mention it or have time to talk about it. In fact, he probably covers her to avoid escalation with the Celestials at some point.

Erin is caught up the fight, injured and retreats into the leylines.

Merlin does his thing. Likely in Ryeham, where his... mysterious "seal" is sitting, next to the Rift.

Both, Merlin and Erin, disappear for the next 20 years. Although, Merlin seems to still be in touch with Hogan somehow, despite continuing to loose his memory in that timeframe.

And the rest is current events, covered to an extend here.

#my art #afk journey #hcs #ocs #afk merlin #afk cyran #erin #my days work today #finally i can get up and do something else #like thinking about more details? future events? xD #or more sketches?#or dinner maybe

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aviradasa · 1 year ago

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The sight of two stars

Aaravos x Startouched elf! Reader

(art from Pinterest if you know the original artist let me know so I can give proper credit!!)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

{Fluff}

warning: none

I had this idea for a while about Aaravos with a reader who likes to find constellations on his skin and I started this oneshot expecting it to take a completely different path but I love how it turned out and I'm low key proud with the idea. The execution is not my best work but we have fun here!😂. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy! I hope this will be able to hold you over for a few more days as I have 3 more one shots/images in the making that should come out shortly! Anyway, it's almost 3 am and I have to drive for 5 hours back home tomorrow 😭.

(ps:I had to make up a constellation for this that sounded more magical so I did! But all the other constellations are either from the show or a real constellation!)

Don't forget you can leave a request! I will link my master list here make sure you read before requesting! Love you all my little goblins 🖤

I have always loved the night sky And everything that belongs to it. I've especially always been drawn to constellations. The way the stars are set just perfectly to make a work of art when in reality they are so far from one another that they are not aware that their portrait is beautiful in a way.

It's been so long since I was able to gaze upon them. Being imprisoned for centuries with no windows or fresh air is a burden in itself, But losing my Night sky, it almost felt like I had lost myself. Well, I didn't lose all of myself. My lovely husband keeps me Sane (When he's not driving me Insane).

He's the reason I’m here in the first place. What is it with dragons anyway, It was just a couple of war crimes and whatnot, And I wasn't even involved. With the crimes that is. yes, I may have given my lovely starman some ideas every once in a while, But I never got my hands dirty. I was just a performer, Singing and dancing in town squares, Taverns, inns you name it. But alas here we are. Here I am. Stuck in this hell, with no sky, just that Damned mirror. I hate that mirror, Well I hate being in range of that mirror. To know someone could be watching me from the other side unnerves me and I avoid it at all cost.

I hear the door open to the room I have placed myself in, another room in this prison. It's a little library with books on all sorts of things. it's my favorite spot in this wretched place. My little slice of heaven.

I glance up from my book watching Aaravos enter the room with that cloak on, I can’t help but love the way he looks in it, and with the way I look at him, I’m worse than any man.

“My love, Why do you gaze at me in such a way? I can feel your eyes from here” He teases, taking his cloak off and hanging in on a small hook by the tall doors before looking over at me with that Smirk he gives. I love this elf but by the Divines why must he do this?

I shake my head with a chuckle, placing my bookmark in the spot I left off before closing my book. Setting it down gently on the table beside the little sofa I've curled up on. “ Am I not allowed to admire you?.’ I jokingly ask with a small grin as I allow him to take a seat beside me.“So how was your dramatic entrance? Did that Dark mage see you this time like you wanted?” I ask turning to face him resting my arm on the back of the sofa and using my hand to prop up my head.

“Everything went according to plan. His candle went out. I went in, confused him, and left. Just as Intended.” He tells me with a cocky smile.

“Now everything should fall into place, he’s a curious desperate, power-hungry human. That is just the combination we are looking for if we wish to get out of here.” I say with some excitement,

“but my love do not get cocky yet because if one little piece is lost, broken, or forgotten, we will be stuck here. And If we are stuck in here for another century I will skin you alive.” I warn with a stern expression before I chuckle a bit.

He laughs a bit “ No you wouldn’t, 'cause then you would be all alone in this place and we both know you couldn't take that.” He says pulling me closer to his side.

“What are you talking about? Some peace and quiet would be lovely. Maybe then I could finish my book.” I joke as I adjust to get a bit more comfortable. “Ah yes, what book are you reading currently again? It was something to do with the differences between human interpretations of constellations and Elven interpretations correct?” he asks genuinely curious about my interest,

He remembers my love of the night like no other, for he loved it as well. but now it's hard to remember what it's like. Of course, there are illustrations in the books but those illustrations can only capture so much, yes some books do better than others but the true beauty of the night sky can only truly be appreciated in person. Well, maybe something can come close.

“Yes that's right, and honestly humans need to get a bit more creative. I mean they Named Garlath the Annihilator the Big Spoon… Because they thought it looked like a spoon." I say with sarcasm as I roll my eyes. “ and also they call Leolas' last wish the South Star. Talk about imagination.'' I speak with disappointment. Aaravos just simply chuckles “Those names the humans gave them came to be long before this generation, they are simple and easy for their minds to comprehend but I do agree they were quite lazy.” he says in agreement.

I think he gives them too much credit. but what can I say I lost patience with humans during my time performing. Aaravos on the other hand has plenty, but then again he was more respected by them due to the whole giving them magic ordeal which I understand but still, humans are like an annoying younger sibling. you love them and would do what you could to protect them from others, but you would definitely rip their vocal cord out and strangle them with it as soon as they call you ugly.

I sigh “Perhaps I'm a bit harsh on them sometimes, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm losing my mind here, I'm not even sure how much time has passed anymore.” I explain as I absentmindedly trace little patterns on his freckled arm that rests around my waist, as I'm doing this a particularly bright star freckle brings my mind back into focus and I notice something. “Wait a moment…” I say suddenly as Aaravos gives me a confused look “What is it?” he asks simply before I place my thumb over the spot on his arm to not lose it reaching over I grab my book and open it to a certain page leaving him to his confusion as i scan the books page.

“Aha! I thought that looked familiar, darling." I say lifting my thumb off the spot on his arm and placing the book's page next to it. The page has an illustration of a constellation on it, and it just so happens that the little star freckles on his arm connect to make the same one. “Hm well isn't that interesting? I had not noticed that none yet ” he says, grabbing the book from my hand to examine it.

“ Well it says that it's called the eye of Izora, it has 8 stars on top making the upper eyelid, and 5 stars that make up the bottom. The iris is made up of 4 stars in between with the pupil being a completely different constellation (Leola’s last wish). The eye has 7 stars above it making it appear as though the eye has three separate eyelashes with another 7 on the bottom doing the same. In the human kingdoms, it's not known” he reads with a hint of interest. He looks between the book and the spot on his wrist where I found the constellation.

“ isn't that interesting? Oh, I just love finding new ones they are harder to find on you than they are on me for some reason.." I tell you with a grin, snatching the book back. I search through the pages as I scan the rest of his arm looking for more connections. this is one of my favorite things to do, I've found plenty of constellations on myself but with Aaravos they are harder to find because he has a lot more stars on him then I do and they make it harder to connect them,

Minutes pass before I find another new one… It was right in front of us but my eyes couldn't make it out right away. “I see one right there but I can't make out what that one is, It's definitely something though. Can you tell what it is?” I ask Aaravos looks at it for a moment, tilting his head to the side a bit trying to get another angle to look at it but failing.

he seems to think for a moment before he grabs a quill out of the inkpot that sits on the end table next to the sofa, he places the tip of the quill on his skin tracing in between the stars on his arm. As I look through the book I hear him hum “It looks like a scorpion look it up in the book I think we finally found it.” he says, showing me the connected lines.

“I think you're right.” I say glancing at his armbefore turning to the next page and seeing the scorpion-like constellation, it matches the one on his arm and I grin “We found it, I knew it was around here somewhere, we all have our star sign on us, yours just was hiding all these years.” I laugh and he does too “I found it once before I believe but I lost it and didn't find it again until now.” he says holding it up

“ well maybe once we get out of here you should get it tattooed so you don't lose where it is again.” I joke And Aaravos laughs a bit “My love you know I would never do that, it's not my style, besides I am already vastly decorated anyways.’ he says in a kind of sassy tone. As we both laugh some more

As the day? Night? Carried on We both continued our search for more constellations on his skin. It wasn't long before we had mapped out at least a dozen from his wrist to his shoulder connecting the stars with thin lines of writing ink that was smudging in some places but neither of us cared because this was one of the few moments where neither of us are frantically searching or planning. It was just us, then again it's always just us, but moments like this bring us back to reality when we didn't even realize we were drifting away from ourselves, and each other. I know we are gonna make it out of this prison one day, and once we do I know it's going to be just the two of us against all of Xadia. But that's ok I know we will be able to take care of it. And at least I'll have my night sky back.

#tdp #tdp rayla #tdp s1 #tdp spoilers #aaravos #tdp claudia #tdp s5 #aaravos x reader #aaravos the dragon prince #tdp aaravos #tdp callum #Aviradasa writes #Aviradasa 👽🖤

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possessiveandobsessive · 4 months ago

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A Cat for Her Crow

Pairing: Lucanis x fem!Rook

Synopsis: Lucanis Dellamorte has a soft spot for two things: cats and a certain red-headed elven mage that goes by Rook

We've reached the end! This is the final part of this story! I hope you all enjoy!

Part 7: The Rook, Her Crow, and His Demon

When Lucanis's gaze next met hers again, his eyes were Spite's. She grinned at him, "Hi Spite. Lucanis said you wanted to talk to me too?" Spite curled Lucanis's mouth into a twisted, devilish grin that belonged to Spite alone.

"Rook is ours now? Rook will stay with us? That's what she said. Yes? That's what Lucanis said." Spite sounded relieved, but within that relief, there was a fearful questioning. He wanted to believe her. Lucanis needed Rook, and Spite liked Rook too. She was his favorite. She didn't treat him like a dog, or like he was evil. Rook treated Spite as another individual and Spite had never experienced that with another human. He couldn't love Rook the same way Lucanis did, but he loved her the way a Spite demon could. He'd kill anyone who hurt her. So yes, he realized that he, a demon tethered to a human soul, was afraid of losing this woman too.

Rook smiled warmly at his eager questions. Right now, he reminded her more of a puppy than a Spite Demon. She was no fool though. Rook heard the hint of fear, of anxiety in his tone. Spite was afraid of losing her too. The thought made her sad, but she understood it. She had been afraid too, so afraid she almost didn't say what she felt. Rook needed Spite to understand she wasn't going anywhere, and that her loyalty lay with them.

"Yes Spite. My place is at both your sides. I'm not going anywhere." She shot him another grin and winked, "I'm not scared of the big, bad Spite Demon." Rook then became serious again, "I couldn't hurt Lucanis. Not if my life depended on it. Betraying him, losing him, is the worst fate I can imagine." Spite's already glowing purple eyes lit up even more in response. Lucanis's/Spite's expression morphed into a much gentler one. When he smiled, it was warm. This wasn't the smile of a calculating demon, this smile conveyed love.

"Rook saved us. Saved him. He needs you. Needs your strength. Spite likes Rook too. Rook is powerful and her soul burns brightly. Kills well. And smells good. Rook sees Spite, not just a demon. Not just Lucanis. Spite will protect Rook always. Nothing will harm her. Rook is Lucanis's heart."

It was the most she had ever heard Spite speak at one time, and it floored her. Spite was so much more than a demon now. He and Lucanis were connected by more than just the standard possession/blood magic that was common for mages turned abominations. The two of them shared a soul now. Their souls that existed independently before, now were twisted and wrapped around each other so tightly, it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Spite was influenced by Lucanis's humanity, and Lucanis by Spite's overwhelming and raw emotion. Neither of them could truly control the other. Together they experienced life and its challenges. Together they protected one another and the things they loved. They existed as one being now, something new. Rook couldn't deny that fact, just as much as she couldn't deny that she loved Lucanis. They were all in this together, in a way no one else could, or needed to understand.

Rook put her hand on one of Lucanis/Spite's cheek and Spite made a low sound from his throat in response and leaned into her touch. He looked completely at ease.

"Feels nice." Spite said closing his eyes. "Thank you Rook."

A moment later when those eyes re-opened, they were Lucanis's beautiful brown ones again. So much emotion swirled behind them, and Rook swore if she looked closely enough, she could see tiny flecks of purple flashing within them.

Upon seeing that it was once again Lucanis she was holding, she put her other hand on the other side of his face and pulled him in to kiss her. Finally. They both sighed and prepared to deepen the kiss when an indignant "mew!" came from Lucanis's single bed behind the pair. They separated and Lucanis turned to look at the irritated looking kitten sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked judgemental and very unimpressed with what she saw. The black tuft of hair mewed again and stretched before sitting back down and staring at them. Her tiny tail flicked in annoyance at being forgotten.

Lucanis chuckled in disbelief. "She is an odd kitten that's for sure. Look at how irritated she looks." His smile said he wasn't bothered in the slightest.

"You're going to have to hold on little one, I have to clean up the mess you made of poor Rook's skin first. Then we can get more acquainted, and I'll find you some food."

Rook laughed at how seriously he spoke to her, like she was another person. He really was special. She had gotten lucky at last. "Luck turns kid, you just have to be patient and keep going until it does." More of Varric's wisdom came into her mind. He was never wrong it seemed.

Soon her hands, wrists, and the spot on her neck were cleaned and bandaged. It had been so long since someone had tended to her so reverently. Rook felt like she was home. She hadn't had one of those since she was a child living with her clan and her grandmother. It made her chest ache in the best and worst ways, but she knew her grandmother would approve of her new haven. "Mar vhenan juver ma vhenas, ma' esha'lin" Your heart will take you home, my child.

Lucanis finally turned back to the kitten with his hands on his hips and then bent down to pick her up. At this point, Rook was not shocked to see that the kitten didn't put up even a little bit of a fight, but instead settled into Lucanis's hold right away. She was purring in seconds. What did surprise Rook, was Lucanis bringing the kitten towards her and grinning.

Rook took an involuntary step back, that kitten was fast and not afraid to use its weapons on her. Lucanis laughed lightly and assured Rook, "I'm not going to let her get you mi corazón, but she's going to have to understand that you are always going to be at my side. She needs to learn to be nice to the one holding my heart." The last part was spoken while giving the tiny black fluff ball a sidelong glance.

Lucanis took the last step to close the distance between them. Now the kitten was a foot away from her, still pressed into Lucanis's chest. A single violet eye opened and narrowed at her, but before the kitten could do anything hateful, Lucanis began speaking to her lowly in his native tongue. While he did this, he slowly moved Rook's hand to rest on her the soft black fur. Keeping his own on top of hers, Lucanis and Rook petted the kitten in unison. Rook tried not to look wary, but she was pretty sure she was failing based on Lucanis's encouraging look. Soon enough though, that suspicious little eye closed again and the tension seeped out of her little body. The kitten began to purr contentedly, seemingly having accepted Rook's touch. Rook looked at her and then to Lucanis in wonder.

"That was amazing!" She whisper yelled, "She hated me so much and then you got her to let me pet her! She's purring Lucanis!" Rook beamed triumphantly and continued to gently stroke the baby in Lucanis's arms lovingly.

Lucanis smiled warmly. "I just had to explain to her who you were and that you brought her to me. She knows now that you're my equal, my partner. The Little Talon will not hurt you again."

"Little Talon?" Rook asked, eyebrows going up.

Lucanis's smile became a grin, and he then said, "Well her name is Talon, she is just also little right now. How could she be anything but Talon with how you showed up here? She's already taken on someone who's planning to kill gods." He chuckled before adding, "She's got the fiery spirit of one destined to be a Talon, and she belongs to a Crow. So she is a Talon. Our Talon." Lucanis looked incredibly proud of himself for the name, so much so Rook had to force herself to swallow the laugh that built up in her throat. He deserved this moment.

Rook smiled gently at the kitten one last time before pulling Lucanis into another kiss, this one chaste, but carrying a promise. They stood together for a moment; forehead to forehead, eyes closed, with a kitten pressed between their chests. Rook and Lucanis both knew what was still to come. They both knew that the danger was high, and that, for the moment, this bliss was temporary. The fight to come would mean death for many, and they'd have to fight hard to protect the people they loved. So they cherished their moment of peace. All 3 of them.

Later that night when Rook returned to her room, she was startled to see it now contained a bed big enough for two adults (and a kitten). She just smiled. Lucanis was going to throw a fit when she told him he couldn't stay in the pantry anymore, but after tonight, she didn't think he'd really mind sharing her space.

* * *

Lucanis had never felt so well rested in his life. The past few nights he had slept completely through the night. A full 7-8 hours per night! No Spite takeovers, no sleep walking, just sleeping next to his love and with his new baby curled up top on his chest. It was astounding and so relieving to be able to sleep. When he was preparing to head out with Rook and Davrin that particular morning, he decided to ask Spite about it.

"Spite" Lucanis called. In the mirror he was staring into as he strapped on his blades, he watched his own eyes go purple.

"Yes?"

It was still incredibly disconcerting to see his own mouth move in the mirror without being the one to speak the word. "How come you haven't been trying to get up and go somewhere the past few nights? Do not get me wrong, I'm grateful and I need the sleep. But you used to always try to get out and run around while I slept, even after we came to our new agreement. You were so eager to get out, explore, and no doubt cause panic, why is now different?"

Spite stared back at him in the reflection for a moment before surprising Lucanis with his response, "Can't wake The Talon. Or Rook. But We can't move to get up without waking The Baby Talon. Baby Talon needs rest." He paused, "And Spite likes being with Rook. She is comfortable. Don't want to go anywhere without her, and Rook sleeps. So Spite stays here. Makes us feel... home."

Lucanis stared at the mirror in blank shock. Spite wasn't getting up to cause mischief because... he didn't want to wake the kitten on Lucanis's chest? And because Rook felt like home? Actually, he couldn't fault him there. Lucanis wouldn't want to disturb his kitten either, and Rook WAS their home.

Shaking his head ruefully, Lucanis just said, "Thank you Spite. You're exactly right."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Epilogue: Mar Vhenan Juver Ma Vhenas

It was finally over. All stories have an ending, and this one was no different. The blighted Gods were dead. The impossible had been achieved through the combined strength, effort, and lives of the many people who had taken up Rook's cause. The Crows, The Veil Jumpers, The Mourn Watch, The Lords of Fortune, The Grey Wardens, and the Veilguard had all stood together in the face of a power that without all of them, they couldn't have hoped to match. Together though, they brought down a god, his army, and his Archdemon, saving the world as they knew it. And Rook, together with the Inquisitor and Mythal had gotten through to the Dread Wolf. Convincing him to put it right, the three women got Solas to tie himself to the Veil. He would keep the Veil between worlds, what he once viewed as one of his greatest regrets, in place and protecting the people of Thedas for the rest of time. Fen'Harel acted for the better of the new world and her people, not for the one lost to the ages and struggles of thousands of years passed. The Dread Wolf came through in the end, as the Inquisitor and Varric both knew he could.

As for Rook, she was just grateful the dark times were over. She'd lost so much. Varric, Harding, and so many she once knew died fighting for this cause. "Whatever it takes", they'd all agreed. For some, it truly took everything. The losses were agonizing at first, especially in the days immediately following the final battle. Rook had to send many letters notifying Harding's family and loved ones as well as Varric's friends that they had made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of Thedas. There were tear stains on the pages, evidence of how much the words pained Rook to write down. It made it all too real. But it was real. Rook knew now better than ever, that holding onto regret and hiding from the truth only trapped a person in grief and pain. She had too much to live for to do that to herself.

Lucanis and Spite had been there when the battle finally ended and Solas finally made ammends. She was immediately pulled into a crushing hug when the dust settled and the quiet calm fell over the scene of death and destruction.

Lucanis had said her name over and over again as he held her, his voice full of relief and reverence. "We did it Rook." he said, finally pulling away enough to look her in the eyes. "You did it mi amor. You saved the world." Lucanis had never been so grateful in his life. He thanked every god, spirit, demon, and power above he could think of. They had made it. She had made it. He could feel Spite's relief and pride in his chest. Our Rook killed a god. Saved the day. Saved everyone. Spite thought to Lucanis before pausing and adding in a grumble, Wish she'd killed the Dread Wolf though....

Lucanis understood Spite's resentment of Solas. The Wolf had betrayed, trapped, and hurt Rook. At the same time, didn't everyone deserve a chance at redemption? Rook had given them one, after all. An assassin and a demon.

Rook pulled him from his reverie when she spoke, "It's... it's over. It's over, and we're alive. We're both alive, and Elgar'nan is dead." Her voice was full of wonder as she said these words slowly, as if she was trying them out.

Lucanis pressed his forehead to hers and put his hand on the back of Rook's neck, holding her gently but firmly in place. "We made it Rook. Or should I say, God Killer." Rook let out a surprised laugh at his statement.

"I guess you're right, we're both God Killers now."

* * *

When they arrived back to the Lighthouse, Rook was exhausted. It ran so deep, she felt it in her bones and blood. Now was not the time for just rest though. The remaining members of her team and herself had just survived the impossible. Everyone was prepared to celebrate, but each in their own ways. There was too much grief in the air for a party, for drunk songs and memories. So they broke off to bask in the fact they were all alive in the well-deserved quiet peace of their Lighthouse.

Rook and Lucanis headed for Rook's room to change out of their bloody armor and get clean. Once this was done, they both laid on her bed together. Talon was asleep on their discarded clothing in the corner, (she was too good for the bed Lucanis had gotten her apparently as it lay unused on the nightstand beside the bed.)

Lucanis was laying on his back with one arm behind his head and the other wrapped around Rook, who had her head on Lucanis's shoulder with an arm slung across his chest. At first they just laid there in silence. The easy way in which they held each other felt like a miracle by itself. After several minutes had gone by, Rook propped herself up on the arm not currently across Lucanis's chest.

"I love you Lucanis. You know that right?" Rook spoke quietly, looking him directly in his eyes. "Now that this is all over, I'm not sure what's next. What I know for certain, is that where you go, I go. I will follow you to the ends of the earth and fade Lucanis. That's my promise."

Lucanis swore he had never loved anyone as much as he loved the woman in his arms. "We can decide together what happens next. The Crows have named me First Talon, but if that isn't the future you want, then we can choose another path. I won't go into a future that you don't want mi vida. You and Little Talon, you're my family."

Rook smiled at him and leaned down, silencing him with a passionate kiss. She pulled away for a moment, just long enough to say the words she had wanted to say for weeks. "We have all the time in the world, love. So let's take tonight for ourselves." She looked up at his face through her lashes, "Show me how much you love me. Make me yours, and tell me with more than words that this is forever."

Pupils completely blown out and eyes holding nothing but love and want, Lucanis groaned and brought her head back down to capture her mouth. He flipped them so that he was now on top of her, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, "It's a good thing we have the rest of our lives, because showing you just how much I love you is going to take awhile."

When she looked at him as he pulled away from her ear, she could see his eyes were an enchanting mix of warm brown and striking purple. "You're mine Rook. Now and forever" "Ours forever".

It was a promise kept, until their hearts stopped beating. Until the sun exploded and the world became dust. They belonged to each other, and there was no power in existence that could change that.

The End

I hope everyone enjoyed this little story! I definitely enjoyed writing it! Thank you to anyone who read the whole thing!

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Part 5 here

Part 6 here

#dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #spite dragon age #lucanis x rook #dragon age the veilguard spoilers

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aelius29 · 6 months ago

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Journey's End

Pairings: Elf Wednesday x Hero Fem reader

Part 2/???

If you didn't read the first story. This is the link of Part 1

Reminders: This is an A.U. A version from anime called Frieren: Beyond Journey's End. So their personalities will be mix up and including their appearance.

For example: Like Wednesday, she has a white hair and green eyes while Fem reader has blue eyes and h/c.

Yoko was a half dwarf and Enid was a human being Priestess.

A/n: I hope you guys enjoy this story.✨

Third P.O.V.

"Mage Wednesday Adamus."

"Hero Y/n Celest."

"Priestess Enid Amilair."

"Warrior Yoko Tana."

The king's words echo through the square, the crowd of citizens listening intently to his pronouncement. The king proclaimed in turn, before continuing.

"You've done well defeating the demon king. A peaceful era will know dawn upon this world."

The citizens let out cries of joy upon hearing the king's words, clearly ecstatic at the realization that the age of strife had finally come to an end.

Wednesday P.O.V.

We are now walking in the plaza, having just departed from the castle.

"It appears that the King intends to commission statues of us for display in this very plaza," Y/n states.

I acknowledge with a nod, my face betraying no hint of the tumult of emotions swirling within me.

"Indeed, the King did mention such a plan," I respond, my voice maintaining an even and imperturbable tone. "Such a way of recognizing one's contributions is rather strange, I must remark."

"well, I have strong doubts on whether or not they'll be able to faithfully reproduce a handsome woman like me though. HAHAHAHA." y/n reply as she laugh.

Indeed, Y/N's beauty was undeniable. Her striking blue eyes and her (messy short hair/hijab/her long hair/curly hair, etc.) somehow combined to form an captivating image that drew me in more than I cared to admit.

"Yes, it would indeed be quite a challenge for any sculptor to do justice to a visage of such captivating charm and perfection," I concede.

Y/n laughs heartily, clearly enjoying my dry humor.

"Oh, absolutely," she says, her voice dripping with false modesty. "I have no doubt they'll manage to capture my humble perfection flawlessly. It'll be like looking in a mirror."

"Oh, of course," I reply dryly. "How could any mere mortal sculptor possibly hope to capture the absolute flawless beauty that you possess? It's a futile endeavor, really."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help a small smirk from forming on my lip. Her exaggerated modesty is irritating, yet weirdly endearing at the same time.

Y/n gives an exaggerated curtsy, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Why, thank you," she says, feigning a look of mock surprise. "I had no idea you thought so highly of my appearance."

I huff out a small huff of amusement, but I quickly regain my composure.

"I doubt anyone has ever thought lowly of your appearance," I retort. "Your beauty is quite... noticeable."

As we banter back and forth, I can't help but wonder yet again why this woman, with her irritatingly charismatic demeanor, has such an inexplicable effect on me. It's maddening.

Suddenly, enid interrupt us.

"Now now. Wednesday. We can drink alcohol for free now, so is that more than enough?" Enid spoke this time as she's holding a mug of beer. Ironically she's a priestess.

I glance at Enid, raising an eyebrow at her suggestion.

"You just can't resist a free drink, can you, Enid?" I say in a dry tone, already knowing the answer.

Enid grins unrepentantly, shrugging with feigned innocence.

"What can I say? It's a perk of the job," she replies, her tone light. "Plus, it would be a crime not to take advantage of the King's generosity."

"You corrupt priestess." I replied dryly.

Enid just laughs at my comment, unbothered by my bluntness.

"Guilty as charged!" Enid replies with a shrug and a cheeky grin. "But can you blame me? Free drinks and a priestess salary? I'm practically living the dream."

I roll my eyes once again at her carefree demeanor, but there's a hint of amusement in my expression.

"You know, one day your habit of drinking and carefree attitude might get you into trouble," I can't help but add, a hint of warning in my voice.

Enid just waves off my comment with a dismissive gesture.

"Oh, please. Where's the fun in being a priestess if I have to worry about getting into trouble?" she replies cheekily. "Besides, I know how to handle myself. I'll be fine."

I shake my head, knowing that arguing with her is futile. Enid has always been carefree and wild, even when we first meet.

"Whatever you say," I say with a hint of resignation. "But don't come crying to me when something inevitably goes wrong."

As we continue walking, yoko spoke this time. "It's all over, huh?"

"Yes it is. This marks the end of our journey." Y/n said.

"Ten years, hmm? A lot of happened in that time has it not?" Enid said in thoughtful while she's holding a jag of beer.

I give a contemplative nod, acknowledging the gravity of our shared experience. Despite the fact that our adventure feels like it has lasted only a few weeks, I am keenly aware that it has been a significant span of time given the vast differences in the lifespans of elves, dwarf and humans.

"Even on the day if departure, Y/n and yoko going to be executed for being impertinent to the King." Enid think before she giggled.

I roll my eyes at Enid's remark, but there is a hint of exhaustion in the gesture.

"Please, let's not start with that again," I say, my tone carrying a hint of weariness. "There's no need to bring up the fact that we all would have been executed by the King on the day of our departure. I'd rather not dwell on that unpleasant memory."

Y/n gave an amused chuckle, clearly not bothered by the reminder.

"Oh, come on, Wednesday," she says with a smirk. "Where's your sense of drama? I think being executed for impertinence kind of fits our story, don't you think?"

I shoot her a disapproving glare, but can't help but feel a pang of amusement at her unflappable attitude.

Then Y/n added in amused in her tone, "There were also times when Enid would be totally useless after getting a hangover, hm?"

"And that would happen to her once every week." Yoko added.

I can't help but let out a weary sigh at the mention of Enid's tendency to overindulge in alcohol. It's a habit of hers that I have grown accustomed to over the years.

"I swear, that girl has the liver of a dragon," I comment dryly. "It boggles the mind how she manages to function in the morning after such excesses."

Enid merely gave a sheepish grin, seemingly unrepentant.

"What can I say? A girl has her vices," she replied, sipping her beer unflapped.

Yoko shakes her head with a fond smile. "You truly are incorrigible, Enid."

It becomes apparent that I possess a greater level of proficiency in our current moment, so I respond as such.

"On that note, I was outstanding —" suddenly I was cut off.

"Wednesday. We considered leaving you behind when you got gobbled by a mimic." Yoko remind it.

I let out a small scoff at Yoko's reminder, recalling the less than favorable incident in question.

"Yes, that was...unfortunate," I admit, my tone grudging. "But it was a momentary lapse in judgment, and I rectified the situation quite efficiently, if I do say so myself."

Enid couldn't help but laugh at the comment.

"Don't sugarcoat it, Wednesday. You got completely owned by a mimic," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And I seem to recall you screaming like a little girl when it swallowed you whole."

"To clarify, I am not exerting these high-pitched exclamations out of torment," I responded with my characteristic deadpan tone. "Rather, I am expressing my surprise at not encountering Grim Reaper." I added, injecting a touch of dry humor into my words.

Yoko chuckled, clearly amused by my explanation.

"Oh, of course. Because it's completely normal to scream in a non-agony way when faced with the prospect of meeting Mr. Death, right?" she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Enid snorted in agreement, her laughter growing heartier as she struggled to contain herself.

"Geez.. it seems we've only ever had ridiculous memories. But still it was fun. I'm glad I could adventure with you all." Y/n said as she grinning towards us.

"Yes.. it is." Enid smiles.

"It was short though." I simple said it.

"Short? What do you mean? It was ten years, you know?" Y/n reply as she shook her head. Then she goes beside to Enid.

"Look at Enid. She's totally reaching that age. Pitifully."

Enid gives Y/n a playful swat on the arm, a hint of mock indignation in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm not old yet, you know!" she protests, though she can't completely suppress a laugh.

Yoko joins in the teasing, her smirk widening.

"Oh come on, Enid. We all know you're reaching that ripe old age where you need regular naps and plenty of anti-aging creams."

"How rude." Enid reply as she roll her eyes.

"She's been like that since the beginning hasn't she?" I comment.

Y/n grins cheekily, clearly enjoying the banter.

"Oh, and don't forget the grey hairs. I can already see them sprouting on her head."

Enid huffs in mock irritation, her hands flying to her hair in a protective gesture.

"Hey! I still have plenty of years before I start getting grey hairs, you know! And also I'm practically younger than you in one year!"

Y/n and Yoko both laughed loudly at Enid's reaction, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of her.

"It won't be long now will it?" Yoko said

But then our conversation stop as we saw the sky. After all it was night time. The meteor shower.

We all fell silent as we lifted our gazes towards the night sky, utterly enthralled by the breathtaking sight unfolding above us. The heavens were clear, and the meteor shower was at its zenith, with streaks of light streaking across the sky like a celestial cascade.

A reverent hush enveloped our group, each of us too entranced by the mesmerizing display to utter a word.

"The 'Era Meteor' I believe they where called." Enid suddenly piped up in response.

"A meteor shower that happens once every 50 years." Y/n added.

"A perfect beginning of peaceful era." she concluded, her words suffused with a sense of wonder.

I caught the whispered words spilling from her lips as she continued to gaze fixedly at the sky. "How majestic..."

I continued to stare up at the sky, my thoughts wandering as I watched the meteors streak across the darkness.

"It's hard to see in this town, isn't it?" I asked them suddenly.

"There people having a moment. Try to reading a mood." Y/n rolled her eyes, amused by my bluntness.

Enid chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"Wednesday, your timing could use some work," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Yoko gave a light-hearted giggle, clearly unsurprised by my bluntness.

"In that case," I address them, "Fifty years hence, I am certain of a locale where we shall witness an even more breathtaking spectacle. Therefore, I shall take it upon myself to guide you all there."

Enid's grin widens, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

"Oh? Planning ahead for our future get-togethers, are you?" she teases.

Yoko laughs softly, her gaze thoughtful. "Fifty years from now, huh? Sounds like an adventure worth looking forward to."

I discern the soft sound of Y/n's giggles, and my gaze meets with the fondness that dances across her features.

"What?" I query, my voice tinged with curiosity.

She responds with a tender smile, "Oh, it's nothing, Wednesday."

The way she looked at me, with that familiar gaze and the sparkle in her eyes, made me realize how captivating she truly was.

It was as if all her natural beauty suddenly intensified, her eyes resembling the mesmerizing blue hue of the elegant blue moon flower. It was almost enchanting.

I couldn't help but respond to her smile with a small, almost imperceptible one of my own. There was something about her that made me feel a mix of comfort and a sense of kinship, as if we shared a secret that only the two of us knew.

"And yes, let's watched together." she added, her eyes now fixated on the heavens above.

—————

"I too shall bid you all farewell for now." I responded, my gaze lingering upon each of my companions in turn.

"What are your plans upon parting ways?" Y/n inquired, although she was already aware of my intentions.

"I shall persist in my pursuit of arcane knowledge, with the aim of exploring the central provinces for the next century," I informed her calmly.

"Ah, the pursuit of knowledge. Always a worthy endeavor for you, isn’t it?" Y/n chuckled, her expression amused.

Enid snickered, clearly not surprised by my declaration. "Of course, of course. You and your love for knowledge."

Yoko's eyes flickered with understanding. "The Central Provinces, eh? That's a vast region to explore. But if anyone can handle it, it's definitely you, Wednesday."

I gave a slight nod, acknowledging Yoko's words. "Indeed, the Central Provinces offer a wealth of knowledge to be discovered. I look forward to delving into its libraries and manuscripts for as long as I can manage."

Upon uttering those words, I turn my back and begin to stride away, deliberately averting my gaze from my companions as I do so.

"Hey, you're not even going to say goodbye?" Enid called out in a half-hearted protest.

Yoko chuckled, used to my aloof demeanor. "You know that's just how Wednesday rolls."

I halted my footsteps but didn't look back, offering a simple response over my shoulder.

"There's no need for farewells. This isn’t a final goodbye. We will meet again." I was about to walk but...

"Wednesday..."

Hearing Y/N's voice calling out to me, I paused in my steps for a moment, though I did not turn around to face her.

"Your promise to come back to me, right?"

The weight of her question weighed heavily on me, and I knew that my response would hold great importance to her. I stood there silently for a few moments, not wanting to give a hollow assurance without truly understanding what she was asking of me.

After a long pause, I turned around to face her, my gaze steady and resolute.

"Yes," I said, my voice firm and unwavering. "I assure you, I will come back to you."

The certainty in my voice left no room for doubt or speculation, and I could see the relief and hope in Y/N's eyes, her shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted from them.

I held Y/N's gaze for a few moments longer, silently conveying the seriousness and determination behind my words.

Then, without another word, I turned around and continued walking away, knowing that I had given her the assurance she had been seeking.

A part of me was reluctant to leave, the desire to stay by her side growing stronger as I put distance between us. But, I knew that I had a greater mission to fulfill, and I could not let my emotions interfere with my duty.

I could feel their eyes on my back, probably exchanging glances but I kept my gaze forward. There was no need for a grandiose farewell. We all knew our paths would cross again, and that was enough.

Third P.O.V.

Enid responds with a soft, amused tone, "It seems, Wednesday was really have a soft spot on you, y/n. Even that Elven emotions are somewhat elusive to us humans, doesn't it?"

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes reflecting a mixture of warmth and playfulness.

"Well, Wednesday has always been a unique individual, to say the least," she said with a fond smile. "And you're right, her elven emotions are often difficult for us to decipher. But there are moments when her true feelings shine through, despite her cold exterior."

Enid gave a small smirk, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"And I have a hunch that those moments are more frequent when she's around you," she teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Yoko chuckled and chimed in, her grin widening.

"Oh, absolutely. I've seen it myself - the way Wednesday's eyes soften just a bit when she looks at you. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there."

"I agree," Y/n responds softly, a hint of amusement in her voice, "but it appears that Wednesday herself has yet to acknowledge her own feelings."

Unable to suppress a gentle giggle, she adds, "It will likely take her several years to fully comprehend."

Enid and Yoko nodded in agreement, their grins widening.

Enid chuckled and said, "Oh, I don't have any doubt about that. Wednesday is stubborn as hell. She'll probably deny it to the end of the world before admitting her true feelings."

Yoko chimed in with a smirk. "But we all know the truth, don't we? It's only a matter of time before she realizes it herself."

Y/N smiled softly, a hint of affection in her eyes.

"Yes, it will take time, but I'm confident she will come to acknowledge her feelings in her own time," she said. "After all, sometimes the most stubborn individuals only need a little push and patience to unlock their true emotions."

Enid and Yoko exchanged a knowing grin, both silently agreeing on the truth of Y/N's words.

"Well, I hope she comes to her senses soon," Enid said with a playful huff. "It's getting tiring watching her try to hide her feelings all the time."

"And hopefully, we'll be there to witness it when she finally does," Yoko said, her voice low and filled with amusement.

Y/n, her curiosity piqued, mutters quietly to herself, "Just how long has our dear Wednesday been alive, I wonder?"

"Even if fifty years or a hundred years pass, It's probably just another day to her." she added, a hint of wonder in her voice.

Next Soon... Part 3 ✨

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