#in my mind palace exists an entire world...

[oceansatedogs]

i love only talking about ocs these days because nobody really knows who the fuck magnolia or wolfram or tumult or polynya or seafret or belial/boba or gluckel or

[eleanor-is-probably-my-real-name]

—Claws Of The Wolf—

Emperor Geta x reader (1.8k)

Summary: Captured as a slave the gods seemed to hate you, because it was your poor soul, who was chosen as a gift to the Roman emperors. And one of them in particular caught interest in you.

A/N: that man did something to me. Like, truly. However, enjoy! (English is not my first language, not proofread)

Rome was to be the capital of everything, the center of the entire world. Shining bright, it was the sun over earth, and no glory and no splendor could ever overshadow it. That was it, what they promised you. A promise that seemed as true as the sun blinded. And burned.

This was burned painfully into your mind, when they branded you the first time in Rome. They had attacked your poor village in an unfortunate province. Roman soldiers, invincible bringers of suffering, slaughtered on the battlefield and enslaved everything they found, right after the blood. And if you have ever thought that you could slip away from their claws, then you were foolish. Your fate was sealed as they carted you through half of the Roman Empire, lying in chains. Food and water were thrown at you just enough, so you wouldn’t perish right away, and when you found out that you of all people were to be sent to Rome with some other poor souls, some prisoners envied you. 

You, however, could only pity yourself. 

You were bought. A young woman you were, and they said, you’d have a pretty face. And maybe it was that face of yours that would bring you all the misfortune. It was just a year that you stayed at that wealthy family, preparing meals, cleaning the beds and tidying everything up when your landlord had had one of his excessive feasts. And only because of that you learned how to be quiet and still, vanishing in a room, so everybody forgot your little existence and told you all their secrets without the awareness of doing so. 

You were left alone. 

Until your landlord, a slimy man, was invited. Invited to the palace by the twin emperors themselves. There was a feast to be, of which you didn’t know the occasion for, and you couldn’t have cared less about it. But when the landlord of yours became a guest of honor, he decided that there was no way around making an extraordinarily expensive gift. No honor was too low for the tyrannical emperors of the Roman Empire, and because the gods seemed to hate you and took a liking in your miseries, it was you who was picked as a gift for the emperors. 

You had a pretty face, they said. 

And just like that, you found yourself lost between massive marble columns and opulent, important people, all overflowing with wealth. Wrapped in the most ornate fabrics and gilded in expensive jewelry, you were led through endless halls of glory in the palace. You stayed quiet, hoped for anything to happen that would drag you away from the bloody claws of the emperors, but the gods showed no mercy, watching you without interrupting your suffering. Oh, damn these cruel gods!

You, with the landlord and guards, stopped in front of the largest of doors in this palace, and for a glimpse of a moment you thought of running away, fleeing your fate. But you decided that the death that would follow this pathetic attempt would be the most ignoble. So instead you raised your chin, high up, when you were brought through that door and into the people-filled hall. There were hundreds of them, shining with wealth and money and watching you uninterested. 

And then you saw them, and your hands got sweaty. Worshiped like gods and bathed in every gold, they sat on their thrones, gilded leaves of laurels crowning their red hair. Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta. And when the vain landlord bowed in front of each of them, their names trembling over his lips, you knew which was which. And you didn’t know who you should detest more. Emperor Caracalla, with his childlike grinning, slumped in his throne—disgusted, you pictured him stating death sentences with that laugh. 

Or emperor Geta. His eyes were much darker, his mouth joyless and when his gaze hit your eyes, you realized what a cruel man he was. You had trouble holding his gaze; like a wolf watching the rabbit, that was the way he looked at you. He was hungry and just waited for the smallest sign that showed weakness, an opportunity to lick blood, before you finally fell into his claws. 

And you decided that you would not give it to him. That satisfaction of absolute power over everything and everybody—you would thwart that happily, even if that meant you getting into more unfortunate situations.

“Your highnesses, my emperors, Your Glory and Power shines and overshadows every of my brightest days and darkest nights of my humble being”, the landlord brabbled, and you wondered if he would have shared the bed with the emperors himself, if he hadn’t had you, “This honor to attend to one of your breathtaking feasts is the greatest I could have ever had to enjoy.”

You observed the emperors during his endless crawling and kissing. Caracalla’s glance only touched the landlord occasionally, being more occupied by his cherished ape, who was ridiculously dressed up and probably had more freedom than you could ever dream of. 

Geta, on the other hand, watched the bootlicker in front of him with a stone-hard gaze, knowing very well about his loyal pretense. You were thankful that his eyes weren’t resting on you anymore, because he waited for something, expected something. And that something was you. 

Geta didn’t waste himself on answering the landlord‘s words and only demanded with his gaze that he 'd go on. Goosebumps made their way down your spine, coldly and mercilessly, and yet… interested. You were completely intrigued by his presence, but something had piqued your curiosity for this man—and still, you wanted to run away.

 “Your highness Caracalla, your highness Geta, I have therefore, as a promise of my highest regards, decided to bring a gift for you.“

 Geta, now sitting more upright, leaned forward. His gaze, that inevitable gaze, lay once again on you: your hair, your hands, your hips, and your face. And there was something unsettling in his dark eyes. Desire?

Your heart raced.

 “From my personal servanthood,“ Caracalla watched you now, too, his head cocked, “I am bringing you this beautiful woman.“

 He said your name, and you didn’t bow to the emperors right away. You waited a couple of moments too long, and when you finally bowed, then with an irritating slowness. Knowing very well of this action and understanding it very much, Geta’s gaze had darkened even more when you raised your head back up. The corner of his mouth was now twitching dangerously angered downwards. Not that anyone in the room noticed that small shift of his manner; people had drifted too far away in a delirium of wine and money to see details like this.

But you saw it.

And he knew.

Hours of feast passed, and no one seemed to ever get tired. People drank, ate, and drank more and you stood in the shadow of a massive column and wondered whether your miserable new situation was miserable enough to finally lose your belief in the gods. You stayed not far from the emperors. Geta had made it clear to you that you leaving on your own was not wished; you had no other choice than remaining near him, there, where he could eye you. Just like a beautiful, beautiful statue.  

And so you did not dare move from this position, even though you wanted to. But everything in this new place mounted over you, from the massive walls to the presence of the emperors—there was no chance for you. You gladly accepted the role of a statue, standing among the people but being not seen for anything other than your beauty, everything else being forgotten about your presence.  

You had a pretty face, that’s what they have all said.

And just when you believed that your place in this night was not changing anymore and that you would be left alone once again, the whole attention of Geta suddenly shifted to you. It was just a small hand movement, barely noticeable, and yet it was a command you could not escape.

Again, you didn’t react right away, waited a couple of seconds too long, testing his patience, before taking slow and small steps towards his direction.  

And he waited. He waited until you reached him, until you were close enough to smell his scent. And without anything being able to prepare you for it, he grabbed your wrist in such a quick motion and dragged you down to him, that you stumbled helplessly and humiliated onto his lap. You bite your lips, suppressing a scream of shock.

“They say you have a pretty face, do you know that?“, Geta spoke with a soft voice.

He said it into your ear, he was that close. The tip of his nose ghosting over your rosy cheek let shivers run down your spine, which you desperately tried to push away—and failed.

“I‘ve heard of that,“ you cracked out. 

You were too overwhelmed by the demanding presence that made your blood run faster and robbed you of your last bit of confidence. Stiff like rough sandstone and holding onto his shoulders, you sat on Geta‘s legs, which were wrapped in the heaviest fabrics. You tried not to meet his gaze, holding your head still in one direction only, past his face.

“They are right.“

One jewel-covered hand stroked over your thigh, searching for a slit in your fabrics to finally feel your bare skin—to claim it. And something deep down in you, a small traitorous part of yours, only wished for this very moment, where your skin would be desecrated.

Geta cocked his head, and you heard the smirk in his voice when saying, “Why so silent? I would have expected you to be far more sharp-tongued.“

He wanted something from you. But he didn’t want it right away, because his hand suddenly left your leg, leaving a cold shiver for you, and he inhaled deeply the scent of your hair before pressing you off his lap into a standing position. Blushing deeply out of anger and… desire, you abruptly stood in front of him, having no idea of what you were supposed to do now.

Geta had had a goal to twist you, to turn you, to unsettle you, and he had reached it. There was something that entangled you about him, and you just did not know how you could escape this foolishness of yours.  

Now he was sitting in front of you, grinning victoriously, and spoke: “I will have you brought to a room, where you can wash yourself, and in an hour I will find you in my chambers.“

Then he left. Disappeared between the people. And you, left alone but not freed from the wolf, shivered like a rabbit that would very soon find itself caught in claws. And you damned Rome.

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

what is your theory on why the white palace is filled with buzz saws and thorns? i have my own perspective of it and i want to know what other people think ^^

While the jokes about the king spending the kingdoms' funds on buzzsaws are pretty funny,

I don't think the palace was so filled with deadly obstacles in reality.

My theory is that, being in the dream realm the palace was altered by the king's desires/regrets. Either consciously or subconsciously.

In the dream realm, the entire palace is an obstacle course that guards the king's corpse and kingsoul charm. That's obvious out-of-universe, a feature of the game-play. But I like to believe that in-universe it was reconstructed for that exact purpose, too.

The king hid himself away, very much with the intention of staying hidden. And transformed his palace into his personal guard to keep anyone from reaching him.

I do believe that within the real palace, the training grounds contained similar obstacles. But the main palace was probably only guarded by gates and kingsmoulds.

There are a lot of things about the palace in the dream realm that I believe differ from the actual palace that no longer exists.

The entrance to the workshop, for example.

Or the entire nursery room. My theory is that the nursery never existed, and its presence within the dream is to symbolize how important his child and his wife were to him and how deeply he regrets what became of his family.

The path of pain, too, obviously exists only within the dream and is symbolic of his excruciating regret surrounding his relationship with his child.

So yes, imo the buzzsaws and thorns were created within and by the kings mind and are there for the exact reason that they are there from a game-play perspective.

To hide away what remains of the old king.

The king left the world, having failed so completely, having lost his kingdom, his knights, the dreamers, his wife, and his child. Unintentionally condemning his child whom he loved to an eternity of suffering. Having sacrificed millions of others for a hopeless cause.

Of course his final moments were spent running, hiding, completely removing himself from the mortal world, determined to erase himself. The amount of regret and shame that must have been killing him.

And the palace reflects that.

If you're wondering why the obstacles included buzzsaws and thorns specifically,

Again, those likely did exist in reality, just within the training grounds, as obstacles to improve the knights skills.

The thorns specifically were likely products of the white lady. It's clear that she had a great influence on the palace herself.

Still within the dream realm, the amount of thorns was certainly exaggerated by the king's consciousness.

I'm rambling a bit, so I'll finish off my response here.

Ultimately I believe that the white palace in the dream realm is not an accurate representation of what it was like in the mortal world, rather, an extension of the king himself, and greatly affected by his state of mind at the time he hid himself there.

And as always, I'm interested in other people's interpretations. Anyone is free to share their theories with me anytime!

Thanks for the ask <3

[zelbits]

Hero of Legend: Why is he Hylia's Favorite?

People always say that he's Hylia's favorite incarnation of the Hero. Why is that?

The Hero of Legend has been through it all. Being Hylia's favorite isn't a good thing.

The Hero of Legend exists in a tumultuous timeline, one where the Hero of Time was defeated by Ganondorf. In that ancient era, Ganondorf took the Triforces of Link and Zelda and possessed the power of the complete Triforce, and the Seven Sages only barely sealed him away in the Sacred Realm, which, due to Ganon's influence, became the Dark World.

The War of Imprisonment rampaged the land, and souls who disappeared into the Sacred Realm's gates never returned. Eventually the Sages were able to seal it again, much tighter than before, and peace returned to Hyrule.

However, this is a timeline when the Hylians are fading away, and the blood of the goddess is thinning. Hyrule in and of itself is becoming no more than a legend in current time.

Agahnim, an evil sorcerer looking to open the Sacred Realm's doors once again, begins taking young girls who are descended from the Seven Sages and sacrificing them to the Dark World, hoping to bring Ganon back. He's about to do the same to Zelda, who telepathically cries out for help. It's Link, the nephew of the last knight in Hyrule, who hears her. His uncle races off to help the castle guards, alerted by the chaos at the palace, but is overwhelmed. Link finds him and accepts his sword, unknowingly accepting a lifetime of quests and adventures set up on him by the gods.

Link rescues Zelda and takes her to the Sanctuary, where he is told he must find the Master Sword if he is to defeat Agahnim. He journeys across Hyrule, obtaining the three Charms of Virtue, and even the Dark World (where he turns into a pink bunny until he gets the Moon Pearl) before getting the Master Sword-- but he's too late. Zelda is sacrificed to the Dark World right in front of him.

Link saves the seven girls that Agahnim had sacrificed, defeats Agahnim, then Ganon; and peace returns to Hyrule. His uncle and the king of Hyrule as Link puts his hands on the Triforce and wishes for peace.

The gods certainly found a loophole with that one, instead taking him to the neighboring lands of Holodrum and Labrynna, where he must rescue Din (Oracle of Seasons) after Twinrova (yes, the same ones from Ocarina of Time) capture her in an effort to resurrect Ganon, again. He undertakes another vast journey, defeats their minion Onox and his Dark Dragon form, then defeats Ganon and rescues Zelda for the second time.

And again, he's whisked away to another world, Labrynna, where he must stop the wicked sorceress Veran from upending their world by traveling across time to save Nayru, the Oracle of Ages.

After all of this, Link briefly returns to Hyrule before probably deciding that he's had enough. He sets out on a ship for his final, and most bitter, journey.

On the open ocean, Link is caught in a storm and wrecks. He finds himself on the island of Koholint, a peaceful and wonderful place where he meets and (according to largely-accepted canon) falls in love with Marin, a beautiful girl who nurses him back to health.

In my mind, I believe that Link probably wanted to stay there forever, but he was pulled into another adventure by a mysterious owl, maybe sent by Hylia or influenced by the gods. He is told he needs to wake the Wind Fish, and after a long adventure, he discovers that the entire island only exists in the Wind Fish's dream. The monsters that attacked him were trying to save their island home, and the citizens have no clue what's going on.

Link-- pushed by the gods' influence, I believe-- was forced to wake the Wind Fish, losing the one peaceful place he'd ever been and his beloved Marin.

After this, the hero sets off on the sea once more, never to be seen again.

The fact that he's never heard from again could mean plenty of things. Perhaps he was finally allowed to rest, and made a life somewhere else. Or maybe he did get pulled into another adventure, but somewhere far away. Or maybe, he fell victim to the sea now that his purpose was served and Hylia's protection disappeared.

He is called Hylia's favorite because he is possibly the incarnation of the hero that has seen the most adventures. He was pulled into saving the world multiple times, even when he tried to escape it. His final journey was probably his worst, since he fell in love with someone he ultimately had to destroy.

The only reason he was forced to wake the Wind Fish was because it was the only way to return to his own world, where Hylia could continue to use him if necessary-- and ultimately she never did. Link had to live with the decision that cost him Marin until the end of his days.

In conclusion the Hero of Legend's story is bittersweet. He is certainly a hero, having saved Hyrule twice, Holodrum, and Labrynna. He defeated Ganon and saved Zelda twice. He was renowned as a legend as time went on, but no one knows where he went or what became of him. Perhaps we will never know.

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, you can send an ask, comment, or reblog!

[markleessodalite]

Anything For You: l.mk

Anything For You: Mark Lee drabble

Content: Mark Lee is completely devoted to you. He would do literally anything for you. Warnings: A very brief mention of gods but not actual religion if that makes sense

a/n: my drabbles don't do as well as my text imagines but i find them more fun to write >:) also i worked a longer week than usual this week and i am exhausted!!!!!!!!! so this work is actually an older piece that i wrote for someone else that i just adapted for Mark

Mark realized now that he definitely should have written down his idea as soon as he had it, because now, of course, he doesn't remember. He always thinks of little things, little inspirations and prophecies, and he’s learned that if he doesn't write them down immediately, they’ll inevitably escape his mind just as quickly. And he’s only had so many more thoughts, inspirations and prophecies since you’ve come into his life. He doesn't remember what the thought was, but he knows it was beautiful. Maybe it was a message he wanted to send to you in prose, or maybe a single line to write an entire story from, to create a narrative that could only attempt to be as captivating as you.

He doesn't know what wrongs he’s righted, which gods he’s pleased, what universal forces he’s satisfied to result in you entering his life, but he knows that he is so grateful for you. He doesn't know how he’s managed to move along before your confluence, but he knows that to live without you now would be a miserable experience; to just know that you’re near is enough to keep him sane. He didn’t realize how little he cared for anything. He just floated, drifted, traveled in a haze that clouded his eyes from the beauty that the world holds. Now everything catches his eye, every piece of art makes him feel something, every bird sings a song he wants to hear. And his newfound love for everything that has existed right before him since the beginning of time is entirely on your shoulders (of course, don’t forget, there is perhaps nothing he loves more in the world than you).

Mark feels like his life didn’t truly begin until he met you. He believes that in 50 different lives, 500 different worlds, in 5,000 different dimensions, the only thing that makes the truest sense is you and him being together 5 million times.

So he’s determined to figure things out for you two. He’s determined to get to work. He’ll save up all his money and not spend a penny on anything that’s not for you. He’ll make sure you get to live in the world how you want to. You’ll have a life together, with a nice house and a few kids, and maybe a few pets too. You’ll have friends that you see whenever you want, places to go whenever you want, and you’ll have time to do whatever you want, and do whatever you want together.

And truly, if you’re as devoted to him as he is to you, he could build an entire country of palaces for the two of you on a foundation formed purely from love. If you love him, he will do it all for you.

Mark would do anything for you.

[bunniisms]

WALTER. C. DORNEZ HEADCANON DUMP

Blame this headcanon dump on the tremendous support from my friends and my unending obsession with this Old Fart and throwing him down the metaphoric staircases in my brain!

THE C IN HIS NAME ISN'T A MIDDLE NAME. Remind me to talk about it at length later, because it's an entire bullshit that would make this post far, far longer that I've already made it. Instead, the C in Walter's name stands for COURTENAY, the name of the old, old noble family he draws descendants from. Who had historical connections to the art of Vampire Hunting & the Hellsing Family via their connection to the Vatican and support of the late Abraham Van Hellsing.

Walter was the son of a daughter who didn't have the name (or any claim) to pass down beyond her and her late husband's friendship with Arthur Hellsing. As an adult, Walter's reclaimed the title and hyphenated his last name (i.e. Courtenay-Dornez)

TLDR: Walter C. Dornez but the C in his name is a desperate clinging symbol and claim to historic (and almost forgotten) notoriety and a connection to the business he’s attached his whole identity to but never found direct happiness from

WALTER DESCENDS FROM PEERAGE BUT ISN'T DIRECTLY OF ANY IMPORTANCE TO ANY NOBLE FAMILIES

This is sort of canon, but WALTER HAS DEEPLY STAKED HIS SENSE OF IDENTITY AND PERSON-HOOD INTO VAMPIRE-HUNTING and the concept of both his body deteriorating with age, and his gradual sense of being rendered obsolete behind New Operatives and Alucard is the heartbeat in the floorboard driving him to madness. FOR WALTER TO BE BENCHED OR TO BE RETIRED, HE SEES THAT AS THE DEATH OF HIMSELF IN A FAR MORE VISCERAL SENSE

WALTER IS AN OXYMORON OF ARROGANCE AND INSECURITY. Walter struggles with his sense of identity and his place in the world. It's not that he feels useless, but he feels like he has been doomed and damned to forever be third best - unable to move forward - unable to be better, to be wanted by existence (and himself), always envious and wanting for any claim of his own that he can truly sink his teeth into and use as a salve to cover the infected wounds of insecurity that have been with him since he was a child.

HOWEVER, the funny thing with Walter? As much as he feels this way, he is a haughty, arrogant, catty bastard. He views the vast majority of people, human and otherwise, as far, far beneath him, even with his insecurity being what it is. Walter knows he could be MORE, but these other people? It would be a miracle if they even got to his weakest position. Their words have precisely as much weight as the clucking of chickens.

WALTER HIDES THESE TRAITS WITH A JEEVES-LIKE FACADE AND PERSONA OF WARMTH AND HUMILITY. A lot of the time, the Walter seen smiling and bowing, offering his hand and advice, greeting the guests and answering the household's calls with a polite warmth is as superficial as a cardboard mockup - it's an act - the Walter we see walk out and make pot shots to scare Jan and quote his speech back at him. THAT'S THE REAL WALTER. Walter hasn't so much changed that part of him that we saw so much of in Dawn, as much as he's learned to hide it.

ONE OF WALTER'S LOVE LANGUAGES IS TRANSPARENCY. Walter has developed such a false crust of subservience and humility and comically stereotypical butler-like deference. You know you've sunk deeper into his person when he begins lifting the act in more intimate settings. Walter might seem to get sharper and cattier, a little more mean-girl-esc with his judgement and quips, but that's Walter! If you took him for a sweet old man, you bought the charade, hook, and sinker. THIS is the real Walter, THIS is what goes on inside his mind's palace. Either embrace it or take the check and go! Haha

UNLIKE THE HOUSE OF COURTENAY'S CATHOLIC ORIGINS, WALTER IS ANGLICAN and sparsely practicing, making sure to attend major Church Functions alongside the Household (such as Integra) but not making much of a habit of attending the small chapel inside the Hellsing Estate

WALTER HAS FOURTH NERVE PALSY, caused during The Dawn Arc after he sustained a massive skull fracture and very nearly died

YES, HE DOES BLAME ALUCARD FOR THE INCIDENT THAT CAUSED THIS, they were assigned to a mission together, flushing out operatives in Warsaw together, and yet, they became separated. Alucard's bloodlust or showboating slowed him down, and Walter was left alone to fend on his own. While successful for a while, Walter was a child, a lone child, and his enemies had no mercy. By the time Alucard dragged his carcass back to Hellsing, there was little to be done. But, despite rescuing him after, Walter never forgave Alucard for the part he feels Alucard played. His blame is partially misplaced, but it still burns hot, and the paranoia festering in the back of his mind forever wonders whether it was delayed by accident or if he orchestrated it all to stunt his abilities and prevent him from surpassing Alucard? (it's absolutely NOT that Walter, I can promise you)

WALTER HAS A SMALL HABIT OF ALWAYS LEANING/COCKING HIS HEAD SLIGHTLY TO THE RIGHT SIDE TO COMPENSATE FOR THE DAMAGE TO HIS EYE AND VISION

RE: THE MONOCLE, it's not there for the aesthetics of a Victorian nobleman, though that's not to say Walter doesn't carefully cultivate his image. Walter's monocle is a prescription medical device; it helps correct issues with his depth perception and acquired short-sightedness caused by his palsy (especially with reading). Additionally, it's been a wonder how ptosis symptoms in his right eye that've stemmed from the palsy have been eased with the monocle supporting that side of his face.

WALTER ALSO HAS PERIPHERAL HYPER-MOBILITY SPECTRUM DISORDER most notably impacting his hands, wrists and fingers, but more broadly affecting his ankles and feet too. In recent years, Walter's found that the symptoms have been worsening and spread to his knees, too, but he's never spoken openly about this and resents it greatly. The records from Hellsing-pocket Doctors making note of the degeneration of his condition have always been burned, almost as though destroying them could silence the truth in some way.

THE PURPOSE OF THE GLOVES, while Butlers wearing gloves is a tale as old as time, Walter wears them not to uphold old traditions of cleanliness and not smudging things - but rather to hide the slight but noticeable gaps at the center of each of his fingertips where he ejects the monofilament from, which is unfortunately essential when facing the public. He removes them the second he gets behind closed doors and happily does that.

WALTER HAS A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS DISABILITIES, BUT THEN AGAIN, HE HAS A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH EVERYTHING

WALTER RE: THE WIRES AND THEIR IMPACT ON HIS BODY, the designs of the Late Hellsing and Seward, while innovative, were... imperfect. Flawed even. Walter REFUSES to come to terms with it, but the wires, despite their impeccable qualities, have been degrading his body MORE than gradually. They are the single leading reason for his Hyper-Mobility Spectrum Disorder; they have been EATING at the cartilage and connective tissue in his limbs and making his gradual decline far quicker than had ever been previously believed.

WALTER GOT HIS WIRES IN AN OPERATION AT TEN. It was a deeply invasive affair that left Walter bedridden for months. Directed by Seward and Hellsing loyalists and conducted by the last design of the Late Abraham Van Hellsing and his mentee Seward. WALTER CONSENTED AT THE TIME, IN FACT, HE WAS EAGER ABOUT IT AND THE PROMISE. Walter wanted the prestige, the power, to feel purpose and drive and to have something that was his, that defined him, and the miserable life he'd been gifted that was always at the mouth of the river, leaving him looking up at the source and the promise he had been born outside of and dreaming. HOWEVER, IT WAS STILL SKETCHY AF AFFAIR, AND AS THE WORD OF GOD, IT WAS, WITHOUT A DOUBT, AN INCIDENT OF ADULTS EXPLOITING THE LACK OF KNOWLEDGE, INNOCENCE AND EAGERNESS OF A CHILD FOR PERSONAL BENEFIT.

WALTER'S LOVE LANGUAGE IS QUALITY TIME. Walter, while a womanizer, is no adept man in the art of romance - some would call him a tad clumsy, but that's not it, nor would it be right to call him cold or unromantic. Walter is simply... atypical. He doesn't enjoy grand gestures of romance or constant touch - Walter is a man of boundary, and his ideal form of love is the quiet, cat-like sort of co-existing in joy. Can he perform his duties and passions and look over to see someone he is fond of simply existing - caught in their natural environment and at peace WITH him? That's ideal for him.

WALTER IS A SOMMELIER. Read as Wine Snob, not only for his job, but he just really enjoys wine!

WALTER AND BEING A BACHELOR IS A DELIBERATE CHOICE. He's had proposals passed onto him, and thrice, he's declined. He's had his girls and boys, but never committed even to the point of being considered lovers. Walter is simply most at ease on his lonesome, and though it might seem lonesome at the surface, it's ideal for his line of work and his love style.

HE ALSO IS ALLERGIC TO DEEP COMMITMENT BUT SHHHH

WALTER DOES A LOT OF WORK AND TAKES A LOT OF PRIDE IN KEEPING HIS APPEARANCE. Sorry, I KNOW this man wears expensive colognes that he has organized for the seasons, has all his suits and tail coats properly fitted and has a skincare routine. He IS the type, and I love that for him. His toiletry cabinet is more stuffed with product than either Integra or Seras' COMBINED! He will not leave his room until his hair is slicked back and he smells like sandalwood ON GOD.

THOUGH THAT BEING SAID, HE IS LONELY IN THE SENSE THAT HE FEELS DEEPLY ALONE WITHOUT PEERS; he simply doesn't see most other people, most other creatures, as on his level. In that, and his arrogance, he is deeply alone, but it's a cage of his own creation.

HE LOVES INTEGRA LIKE A DAUGHTER, AND I REFUSE TO SEE IT ANY OTHER WAY; he helped raise that girl - a constant, familiar face in the background of her youngest years. He watched her be born in the house, he was one of the first that held her - she was one of few she gave a big smile to as a baby (she was one of few things that ever made him reconsider his decision to never want children), she watched her walk, then run and grow into a girl and then a confident young woman. And when it comes to the betrayal :,)

I could make an ENTIRE post detailing my thoughts about it and how I portray it, but Walter had been turned into a Freak a long, long time ago, and by the time he met Integra (as in, she was born), he was too far gone to be saved, and he knew it. There was a gun to the back of his head - he had the chip, and he could be toast at any moment; he... well, he selfishly did what he needed to do to survive. Sometimes, the awful truth is that both things can co-exist, and a person can be caught between love and survival and still choose survival, even after everything.

I'm 10000% on copium with this. Still, I feel his whole Ebony Darkness Dementia speech to Integra was to VILLAINIZE HIM AND HIS MEMORY IN HER MIND - he spent DECADES selfishly loving her and raising her, and he knows she returned those feelings. They never spoke about it, but he KNEW. She'd ask him his opinions (even when he, as a servant, wasn't entitled to those against the word of his lord), request him to have dinner upstairs with her and attend church functions alongside him, even when she was a grown woman. He was one of the most consistent fatherly figures she had. He became that for her, but he doesn't want her to spend any years agonizing or grieving over another dead father. Telling her he's a mustache-twirling evil that has always plotted her downfall is another selfish lie. Still, he hopes and needs to believe that maybe, maybe, that'll make it easier on her heart to cope with the rug-pull, his defection (and death) and losing yet another dad.

WALTER IS INTEGRA'S MOST ADAMENT APOLOGIST AND DEFENDER; this is another truth of mine I will take to the grave, and Hirano can fight me. It's not Walter's place as a servant to feel that level of protection over his master - even given his place, having watched her grow. Still, something alien takes over his sensibilities when he hears people speak against her brazenly, and he'll stamp it out in his own petty way. He's her dad, your honour!

[sleepysloth99]

Hi!! Could you do Persona 5 Royal headcanons with the thieves finding out reader has a palace? Thank you!

For sure! But I cannot say much for Kasumi since I never finished the game. I'll do my best, though!

Akira:

He... was shocked. How couldn't he be? His partner had a desire so distorted that they have an entire palace dedicated to them. He would be more cautious, telling the team to be careful of doing any damage to the palace in fear of it internally damaging you in some way. Some part of him can't even believe what he is seeing until he saw your shadow. All he could do is stay calm and rational for the team for everyone's sake, including his pride. But be it known, he will do everything to steal your heart and prevent a mental shutdown even if it's the last thing he does. He'll keep you in the dark for now, but he will confront you later on.

Ryuji:

The first thing he does when he comes back to the real world is confront you. Be it over text or in-person, he is feeling so many emotions. He's terrified that you harbor such darkness, he's angry that you never told him anything, and he's just so... so sad that you have this predicament. He is the one who will act the most irrational and would have to be monitored by the team. Regardless, he will still love you, at least he thinks so.

Morgana:

He was as surprised as he was absolutely determined to steal your heart. He'll be keeping an eye on you in-person for any changes in mood or behavior and report it back to the group. If you yourself are a phantom thief, meetings will be organized without your knowledge and the Phantom Thieves will conduct a web of lies to keep you in the dark. He is strategic, cunning, and genuinely worried for your well-being.

Ann:

She was initially confused, why would you have a palace of all people? You're far too great of a person! Unless... it was all a front? Now, now she's scared. She wants to cry, but similar to Akira, she puts on her bravest face and explores the palace to steal your heart. She wants to see the good in you, she wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, she wants to make you confess, and she will do everything in her power to make sure you atone and/or confess while still keeping you safe. You are still her best friend/lover, but don't take her love for weakness or you'll pay it. After all, the beautiful rose has thorns.

Yusuke:

He stood there, mouth agape at the sight of your distortions. He could paint a portrait of your hopes, your dreams, your beauty as a person, but this... he couldn't even begin to sketch just what the hell was going on in your mind behind that sweet face of yours. He has been wronged before when he was Madarame's pupil, and he wears his heart beneath layers upon layers of armor. He has no one. He lost his mother, his father is out of the picture, his father figure saw him as a commodity, and now you.... he prays to whatever god exists--if there even if one--to spare him yet another cruel joke to be played upon him once more.

Makoto:

She has seen it before with her sister, and she can't possibly bare to see it again. Makoto, the "Fists of Justice," one of the cooler, calm, level-headed members of the Phantom Thieves, would ironically be one of the most biased and irrational people in this situation. Even when she sees your shadow, or Heaven's forbid cognitive clones of her or anyone else, she will still stand there and try so hard to reason with the team or defend you. In the real world, she would try to get you to open up, insinuating that if you ever need anything, you could talk to her or anyone else in the group. Surely, you must be innocent. You just have to be! If not... well, justice will prevail. Especially if it's the Phantom Thieves.

Futaba:

She's on edge, slurping away instant noodles in the real world or eating Sakura's curry while eyeing you from afar and typing away to the other members. In the palace, she will analyze every little thing to connect it back to you, she will study every shadow, and she will do everything to help you while still maintaining the code of the team. Since she had a palace before, she is one of the more empathetic members of the team in regard to you. Despite her sympathy, since she can't truly grasp your cognition, just your circumstances, she will still fight for justice even if it means putting you in jail if necessary.

Haru:

After everything with her father, she believes that anyone is capable of being evil.... including you. As much as it pains her to think it, she knows in her heart that you're only human. Humans are greedy, lustful, sadistic, cruel, and depraved creatures. You are just as capable of being awful as she and everyone else she knows is. She is far too passive to address this to you in-person, but she might send a text asking if everything has been okay. Similar to Morgana and Futaba, she will start to pay closer attention to you in-person. Expect her to show up with vegetables as an excuse to monitor see you Kasumi:

She... doesn't feel like she really has any room to judge. Who doesn't have a few skeletons in their closet? But... if you're out there, harming people, she absolutely has to do something to stop you. It just isn't right! If you helped her find her true self... she returns the favor and help you do the same or face yourself! She's with you till the very end, even if you aren't. Akechi:

Also, not the type to have a high horse considering his secrets... similar to Akira but unlike Ryuji, he will address the situation to you in-person in a calm manner. Out of everyone in the group, he is most likely to hear you out before pursuing the palace. If you give him any aggression or difficulty, he will have one more reason to explore the palace. If you're on his team, he will still talk to you, but he'll avoid saying anything to aggravate you so he could execute his plan. No matter what his father says... he won't cause a mental shutdown for you... at least, he hopes so.

[chaifootsteps]

[Fixing all the plot holes of mastermind don’t mind me]

Asmodeus and stolas have so much power it’s like Pop forgets, because she wants them to be the soft yaoi counterparts in ships. Babying asmodeus of all people is a joke.

Vassago did what he could, Beelzebub said what she could, Moxxie said what he could. The fans are scrambling for excuses Asmodeus, a deadly sin powerful than all three, with key awareness and key insider context that would destroy Andrealphus plan, said nothing AT ALL. She couldn’t even come up with a creative reason for the grimoire to be exposed. She just said “oh yeah one day Stella remembered”

And it would have been so easy.

Asmodeus: Marquis Andrealphus, this is an unfounded accusation. Stolas has been seen publicly content with this imp, even at my establishment. Just recently he requested an Asmodean crystal as a gesture of love!

The court gasps, Satan now wants stolas to testify for conspiring with an imp

This is when stolas would arrive and play off of Ozzies words, by saying

Stolas: Yes it was me…as asmodeus just showed you, I was in control of IMPs travel means. The mastermind behind it all. In our public appearances you can see how unhappy blitz is. He didn’t want to be there. I made him do it. Why did I do it? I grew bored of palace life, I wanted to torment the humans with him as my agent. I think the humans should know we exist.

Then stolas gets in massive trouble when it’s exposed that agents of heaven, cherubs, entered hell. Because like,,,hello? The court case shouldn’t have anything to do with stupid Stella. It should be about the fact humans have been exposed to demons and cherubs have entered hell. That’s a way more logical reason for blitz to be in hot water. Stolas even hinted to it in truth seekers. By making the court case about human exposure, it also removes the issue that the grimoire isn’t even being lended out anymore. You could even have prosecution show a slideshow of all the documented times humans have seen blitz and IMP.

Viv this shit is so EASY what are you DOING.

My thinking is mastermind was written before the entire yellow sex crystal meth arc. It was maybe being animated at the same time as JLMW. Vivzie did not plan her story and the viewers put more care and thought into plot consistency, character consistency, and world building than Viv ever does. She does not care. And she hates you for caring.

Thank you for emphasizing that end point. It's so painfully true.

[lilac-witch]

Gossamer - Eris Vanserra x Reader

masterlist

Summary: Before his father's death, Eris had lived a false life, full of lies and deceit. But now, he had the chance to see life in its most gentle, loving form. Meaning: "a fine, filmy cobweb seen on grass or bushes or floating in the air in calm weather, especially in autumn" Word Count: 905 Warnings: None

-------------

She was beautiful, Eris thought, as he watched his wife twirl their daughter around. She had always been beautiful to him, but in the last five years they had been free of his father's wrath, she had simply glowed with life.

The High Lord of Autumn couldn't help but think back on how different their lives had been then, and how thankful he was that things had changed for the better.

---------------

"She is a white devil! Sent by Kallias to rot your mind and steal our innermost secrets!" his father bellowed, flames dancing in his eyes. "She seeks to snuff out the Autumn flames so that that wretched bastard of Night might gain more power!"

Eris saw red, and the temperature in the already sweltering room only seemed to grow.

"She is my mate! She is mine, sent by the cauldron, gifted by the mother!"

His father shook his head, disgust cloaking his features.

"No son of mine will lay with a whore of Winter. No son of mine will wed a member of another court."

Eris watched as his father turned to face the hearth, his back exposed. It would be all too easy... one perfectly placed dagger, and it could all be over. She could be his, and he could be hers. There could be peace once more.

"Get out of my sight," his father hissed.

And so Eris did what he had always done. He played the ever-loyal son. But little did the High Lord of Autumn know that when the sun set, Eris was seeking aid from their most loathed enemy.

-------------

It had taken a year, but it was finally done. Beron was dead. Eris was High Lord of Autumn.

He looked down at his father's bloody corpse. There was no feeling of remorse, no feeling of regret.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Eris turned to face the figure. The figure that belonged to the High Lord of the Night Court. His ally.

"Go to her," Rhysand said softly, as though he was afraid that Eris may be spooked.

Eris simply nodded, sword falling from his hand as he began speed walking through the palace. At some point, he'd broken out into a run, speeding past members of his court who would no doubt have questions. But they weren't of importance right now. His only thought was you.

And there you were, in all your shimmering glory. White hair shimmered in the afternoon sun, body clad in the blue fighting leathers common to the Winter Court.

"Y/n," he breathed.

You turned to face him, blue eyes crinkling in delight before you raced towards him.

When your arms tangled with his, Eris felt nothing but love and warmth flurry down the bond. He ran his fingers through your pale strands, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head.

"it's done. We are free."

"Are you ok?" you asked, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Eris felt tears begin to grow in his eyes and wrapped you even tighter in his arms.

"I have never been better, my love."

---------------

Eris could in fact feel even better.

It had been 3 months since the mating ceremony where he had sworn you in as his High Lady, his mate, his wife. 3 blissful months of peace and love, more than Eris had felt in his entire lifetime. But nothing could have prepared him for the joy he'd felt in that moment.

"I'm with child," you whispered, a hand placed gently over the small bump of your belly.

Eris' mind went completely, wholly blank. The world around him stood still, and only you existed in his eyes.

"Eris?"

He blinked, letting the announcement of your pregnancy sink in. This was real. You were expecting. He was going to be a father.

"You're pregnant," he managed to choke out before the tears consumed him, sobs wracking his body.

Joy consumed him. A babe. You were carrying a babe. HIs babe.

Eris let you guide his hands to your stomach so that he might feel the little life inside you. At that moment, Eris swore he would give his life for your unborn child. Mind, body and soul, he would do whatever it took to keep his babe safe, happy and healthy.

As tears kept streaming down his face, Eris knelt before you, placing a kiss on the small bump.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you for this gift."

--------------

"My love?"

Eris was brought back to the present at the sound of your voice, your blue eyes watching him with concern.

He smiled, bringing your palm to his lips.

"Nothing to fret about, darling. I was simply thinking back on how we got to this moment."

Eris watched as a soft smile fell upon your lips. You glowed with life this cool autumn morning, like one of the dew drops on a string of spider's silk.

He placed a hand on your protruding belly, content and at peace.

"He's kicking up a storm," he muttered as he felt the small movements within your womb.

"He?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Well, it's only fair my love. I'm already outnumbered two to one."

Eris watched your head tilt back, a laugh escaping those sinful lips.

Yes, his life had never been better than in this moment, but Eris had no doubt that as the years passed, life would only get sweeter.

--------------

And that's post number two of the weekend! I hope you have all enjoyed Gossamer and Opalescence. They were so fun to write. A word of warning, content may be slow over the next week and a half. I have two tests and an 800-word essay due :( But as always, I will do my best to get content out, just please be patient with me:)

Just another reminder to please send through any and all requests you might have:)

[crazy-ache]

Eclipse the Sun {Helion x Lady of Autumn Drabble}

“Shall I beg?”

Helion Spell-Cleaver looked down at Orla from where he stood, memorizing every inch and shade and detail of her. The colors she brought from Autumn didn’t exist here in Day, from the gleaming ruby of her hair, the freckles scattered across her skin, the amber of her eyes—and the red of his mate’s blood that he had killed to protect.

“Are you going to make me go on my knees?” She laughed the sweetest sound, even if its echo only revealed the layers of sadness beneath its song. Helion flashed his usual, iconic grin, even if it wavered in her presence.

And when she still said nothing, he dropped to his knees. The fall was two resounding thuds against the marble floor.

For his mate—the Lady of Autumn—this position was usually reserved for happier times. For his devoted tongue and merciless hands. Where he would kiss her like sunlight catching through the canopy of Autumn’s jewel-toned leaves.

But he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I’m begging you, Orla.” He said more seriously now. Her milky white skin shot up to stroke his dark, strong jaw. Begging. Begging in her own way for him to not say the words—but there was no choice, not for him. He was not a male of half-measures.

“I’m begging you to reject the bond. Because if you’re going to end this, it needs to be permanent.”

He had to pull his head into her lap, a hard swallow forced down his throat as if the words itself wanted to claw back down his throat to be never said. His blood cried in outrage. Helion could not bring himself to look at her, or he’d remember too much of their story—of the Equinox ball where the bond had snapped from across the dance floor at first sight, to the many spelled gifts and enchanted letters he had masterfully sent to her in secret over decades, to the passionate affair they had just shared right before this conversation.

To right before she had told him Beron finally knew.

He was no High Lord and there was no going against the wrath of Autumn Court’s cruelest. Because no one would survive the aftermath—not him, not her children, and certainly not his mate.

“If you don’t reject it, then I won’t be able to stay away. I won’t. And your plan will fail.”

“Helion—”

“Please.”

He finally looked up, his dark brown eyes swirling with agony as he wrapped his arms around her middle, shaking her with desperation. “Please. Don’t leave me here bleeding for eternity with the insanity of hope. Just end it so I may at least one day die with the peace of knowing you are not mine.”

She ran her fingers through his long hair. Tears streamed down her cheeks and the bond felt like it was already fraying at the ends, splintering down to the very core of their souls.

“I can’t do that to you. I can’t hurt you—”

As he rested his head again on her lap, he knew there was nothing she could ever do that would truly hurt him. His own pain was nothing compared to the thought of a world without her, and he would do anything, anything to ensure she was safe. He would burn the world for her. Instead, the world was going to burn him—and Helion would let her break the bond.

There was no spell or tonic or indulgence that would help him forget that day. And he tried. Cauldron, did he try. Neither would he forget the day he became High Lord of Day—and the hand he had broken from when he punched the mirror so forcefully the entire palace trembled. Too late. Too late he had risen to power. Too little, too late, he was still powerless to save her.

Madness. Is that what this was? A neverending gnawing that was forced to keep at bay constantly. Madness, he had been told, would befall him if he were to be rejected. But Helion was far from the madness of the mind—but he was furious. Always furious. A secret so carefully hidden like the magic he controlled. He mastered the careful, magnetic smiles, the way he sought fucking to fill his mind with anything but her, and the joy he could plaster to his face like a mask.

Helion Spell-Cleaver marched through the halls and libraries of his court and wondered what his people would think if they knew their High Lord of Day had a heart filled with nothing but darkness. If they knew he wasn’t who they thought he was—he was just the dark side of the sun after he lost her.

[kindred-spirit-93]

helloo who is your favourite character in epic the musical

hi anon!! polites my beloved darling pancake bespectacled loml <3

good lord i just realised ive never had the chance to really go insane about how much i love him and how i interpret his character & the headcanons and lore i have for him bc of studies and exams. but now that im free..... muehehehe >:3

--

AIGHT SO my first biggest and most prominent and by far the dearest headcanon to my heart (which is literally canon atp lol) is him being a medic! my bias for medical/ healthcare centric characters is showing lmao. sue me

as a medical student theres so much you learn about life and death both literally and metaphorically while studying. so many disciplines intersect with one another to create the art of healing, and albeit different from what is studied today, civilisations past had all sorts of fascinating ideas and concepts and cures and protocols when it came to health and wellness, ancient greece was no different!

to me he learnt all about medicine by shadowing the palace physician, possibly even being his apprentice, and benefiting from the royal library. courtesy of prince odysseus lol

(the lore i have isnt solid and still needs to be worked on, like for the oc twin sister i gave him hes the medic and shes the apothecary, but for epic purposes he serves as both lol. and is a childhood friend of ody and natives of ithaca. anyway)

and during troy he manages the medical tent and oversees it, leaving little time for actual soldier-ing, but dont let his kind smile and soft hands fool you, he can and will deck you before you can say suture.

--

something i see a lot of in the fandom with his philosophy of open arms is equating him to a smol bean whos too pure for this world and avoided fighting bc it made him sad uwu. and while he is indeed the most cinammon roll to exist i couldnt disagree more;

my mans lived through a decade of war u can bet his headband he slayed, literally and metaphorically, on the battlefield like it was nobodies business *snort*. he too has got blood on his hands and it isnt necessarily from patching up wounds.

if theres one thing medicine teaches you its both the beauty and tragedy that is life (and to me the wonder of creation); to know and understand deeply how imbalance affects the body and leads to illness isnt easy, studies have been shown that those in healthcare experience the pain of their patients.

being in charge of the livlihood of others can be extremely draining, bedside manner and taking the patients psychology into account are crucial and factor into the healing process. being a medic is no simple feat and needs a lot of resilience and healthy coping mechanisms to avoid burn out and a myriad of long term problems.

anyway all this to say if anyone dares to say polites is weak or innocent i will disembowel them with a rusty spoon. i havent reached my clinical years yet and im already done with everyhting. i can write volumes abt this honestly but this is getting long enough already lol

--

back to post troy when polites tells odysseus to take it easy "do yourself a service, and try to relax, my friend", in my heart of hearts the way i see this is as polites recognising how much damage ody has been dealt during the war, being hypervigilant and ready for combat at all times takes its toll on you and he sees that; "look at how you grip your sword, enough said", right after he advises him to extend trust and start with kindness.

the reason being the outside world isnt a battle field and he (along with the entire army ofc) needs to ease into society and life beyond war. now polites being a medic one of the things he exercises is compartmentalisation (which u need to stay sane. source: me) and this is what he teaches ody. "here we have a chance for some adjustment"

life is indeed amazing when you learn to greet it with an open heart and mind, and even tho we all know the fates are much less benevolent, i fully believe its still an important mentality to embrace and in many ways a skill to hone.

"id like to show my friend that kindness is brave" this is conjecture on my part but i like to think polites is reaffirming to ody that kindness isnt a weakness but a strength, again not out of naivety but of wisdom and experience, that doing good is more rewarding than not, but esp this next bit:

"i see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart so why not replace it and light up the world?" i will cry if i think about this too hard, but in essence poli has diagnosed so to speak ody and its has prescribed and walked him through a regimen of compassion and leading with peace.

odysseus has masterminded a decade long war, where he had to use trickery and guile and lies and strategy to win and make his way back home. ig its up to you how u want to see how odysseus deals with the pain and trauma of war and the suffering hes played a part in (if were sticking with epic we know fs that his actions haunt his days as seen throughout the musical esp via repeating motifs) and its taken its toll and polites bless him is guiding his friend through his grief, a grief he is no stranger to. ofc hes skeptical at first "thats what wed get with pen arms" but follows through with the philosophy and the rest is history lol

in all honesty i have no idea how much mental health and the psyche featured in the epics nor to what extent it was studied in ancient greece from a medical point of view but this is my interpretation i can do whatever i want let me have this pls :')

--

AND THEN we get to the ithaca saga when le suitor proposes to ody to have open arms instead, lots of posts circulated abt polites passing out in the underworld bc of the violence and generally disagreeing with odys iconic "no." and to those people im shaking u by the shoulders and begging u to understand that polites is wearing war paint and the stupid foam finger with #1 monster scribbled on it and probably deafening tiresias as he watches the carnage.

his philosophy has been disgraced and used as a last ditch effort at saving his own neck (you cant convince me he was being serious lol, pretty sure he was trying to buy time bc aint no way 10 years of desecrating ur kings palace and hes going to let yall go just like that? nah son) of course hes losing his shit and yelling at ody to beat their asses and make them pay for plotting against tele and penelope.

--

anyway yes hes my bean i adore him hes just like me frfr i look forward to writing for him (and maybe polibia hehe) in the future :3 tysm to anyone reading this far lmao.

@howmanyholesinswisscheese its ya boi :]

[nightspires]

Jen's personal masterlist of audiodrama podcasts

Disclaimer: When reading this list, please keep in mind that my likes/dislikes do not inherently mean that X podcast is objectively good and Y podcast is objectively bad. These are just my personal preferences. I will also update this list as I try new shows! Last updated: 27 December 2024.

All time fave shows:

Ie, have listened entirely, and in some cases have listened through multiple times

HAUNTED: The Audio Drama

King Falls AM

The Black Tapes

The Bright Sessions

We're Alive (the original run)

Wolf 359

Other shows I thought were good:

Alba Salix

ars PARADOXICA

Badlands Cola

Borrasca

Brimstone Valley Mall

Dark Air with Terry Carnation

EOS10

Girl in Space

Hardboiled

Hello from the Magic Tavern (actual play)

Moonbase Theta, Out

Olive Hill

Parkdale Haunt

The Adventure Zone (actual play - specifically the original Balance arc, but I also really enjoyed Amnesty)

The Ghost Radio Project (idk what happened to this one, it's been scrubbed from existence)

The Pasithea Powder

The Shadow over Innsmouth

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

The Two Princes

Victoriocity

Wooden Overcoats

Shows I listened to quite a lot of (10+ episodes), but didn't finish as I wasn't super into them:

Note: I could be persuaded to pick these back up!

Archive 81

Dungeons & Daddies (actual play/TTRPG)

Limetown

Malevolent

Red Valley

Sinkhole

The Magnus Archives

Welcome to Night Vale

Shows I tried (<10 episodes) but couldn't get in to:

Note: I could also be persuaded to pick these back up and listen to some more eps!

2298

Arden

Blackwood

Bridgewater

Boomtown

BOOM: A Serial Drama

Camlann

Camp Here & There

Coexistence

Death by Dying

Desperado

Gone

Greater Boston

Hello from the Hallowoods

I Am in Eskew

Lake Clarity

Mable

Mayfair Watchers Society

Midnight Burger

Monstrous Agonies

Oak Podcast

Old Gods of Appalachia

Penumbra podcast

TANIS

Terms

The Amelia Project

The Big Loop (anthology)

The Far Meridian

The Mistholme Museum

The Silt Verses

The White Vault

Tribulation

SAYER

The Secret of St Kilda

WOE.BEGONE

Shows on my list to try:

Darkest Night

Dracula: The Dance Macabre

Finding Satan

Gray Matter

Hi Nay

Jar of Rebuke

Knight Falls, CA

Life With Althar

Light House

Mission Rejected

Neighbourly

New Year's Day

Polybius

Redwood Bureau

Rex Rivetter: Private Eye

Station Arcadia

Stellar Firma

Tapes From Beyond

The Cryptonaturalist

The Darkroom

The Hidden Almanack

The Kingmaker Histories

The Left Right Game

The Shadow Diaries

The Six Disappearances of Ella McCray

The Storage Papers

The Subjective Truth

Video Palace

Weeping Cedars

World Gone Wrong

if you want to recommend me something that isn't on this list or want to advocate for a show i should give more of a chance to, send me a message!

[legendarypiratecheesecake]

The Girl in the Market

Part 2:

Hector x Fem!reader

It had been a week since Hector last saw her.

A week since the moment that unsettled his entire existence, the simple curve of a smile and the delicate brush of her fingers across that necklace haunting his thoughts like a dream he couldn’t wake from. He told himself it was foolish—childish, even—for a single, fleeting encounter to consume him so completely.

And yet, no matter how he tried to focus on the world around him, the girl from the market remained fixed in his mind.

Hector stood at the edge of the palace courtyard now, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the endless bustle of Troy unfold below. Merchants shouting, children playing, soldiers drilling—it all felt the same as it always had. Unchanged.

But Hector? He felt different.

---

The hall was hot, the air thick with smoke from oil lamps and incense as the council gathered. The Senate, a collection of aging men draped in ceremonial robes, murmured among themselves as King Priam sat at the head of the chamber, his expression grave. Hector stood beside his father, his jaw set, his broad shoulders rigid.

“Troy cannot withstand another year of poor harvests and trade disputes,” one senator droned. “Our allies in Cilicia demand greater concessions if we are to maintain the flow of grain into the city.”

“And we cannot afford to appear weak,” another said, his tone clipped. “The Greeks are watching us, waiting for the first sign of fracture. If we offer too much, we invite the wolves to our door.”

Hector’s patience wore thin as the discussion dragged on. They had been debating this for hours—the weight of Troy’s future hanging in the balance. Outside their walls, rival kings circled like vultures, eager for any opportunity to seize power. Greeks, Anatolians, even rogue tribes from the mountains—all had their eyes on Troy’s gold and prosperity.

“Then let them wait,” Priam said finally, his voice calm but firm. “Troy does not barter its strength away.”

“And what of the people?” Hector’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. Heads turned toward him, surprise flickering across the faces of the senators. “Our pride won’t feed the families suffering through another year of shortages. Nor will it fend off the Greeks if they decide to sail upon our shores. What would you have me do, Father? Ignore the lives that depend on us?”

Priam’s gaze hardened. “You speak out of turn, Hector.”

“I speak as the man who will inherit the burdens of this kingdom!” Hector snapped. “And I will not be silent while you dismiss the realities of our position. Trade must flow. The people must eat. If it requires compromise, then so be it.”

“Compromise is weakness,” one of the older senators growled. “You would offer the enemy a knife to slit our throats.”

Hector turned to face him. “And you would rather watch Troy crumble out of stubborn pride?”

A murmur swept through the room, and Priam rose to his feet, his voice thundering. “Enough!” Silence fell instantly. Priam’s sharp gaze pinned Hector in place. “You are my son, and you will honor my decisions. Troy will endure as it always has.”

Hector stared at his father, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to respond, but something held him back—duty, perhaps, or the simple fact that he could not bring himself to challenge his father in front of the Senate. Instead, he inclined his head stiffly.

“As you say, Father.”

But as Hector turned to leave the hall, his thoughts seethed.

---

The sun had begun to sink below the horizon by the time Hector reached the temple of Apollo. The white marble structure rose high above the city, its columns bathed in the fiery glow of sunset. The air here was quieter, almost sacred—a reprieve from the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.

Hector dismounted his horse and climbed the temple steps, his armor whispering with every step. He had come for guidance, though whether he sought it from the god himself or merely the silence within these hallowed halls, he wasn’t sure.

Inside, the temple was cool and dim, the only light coming from flickering torches and the glow of offerings placed before the great statue of Apollo. The god’s form loomed above him, golden and serene, his lyre in hand as if ready to soothe the troubles of those who knelt before him.

Hector exhaled slowly, his steps echoing against the marble as he approached. He dropped to one knee before the altar, his head bowed.

“Great Apollo,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Grant me clarity. My people look to me for answers, and I cannot fail them. Show me the path that honors you, that preserves Troy.”

The words hung in the air, unanswered. Hector’s eyes remained closed, his hands braced against his knee as he fought to quiet the storm within him.

And then he heard it. A voice—not a divine one, but human. Soft, melodic, carried by the faintest rustle of movement.

Hector’s eyes snapped open, and he turned his head toward the far end of the temple. There, near the great statue’s base, he saw her.

The girl from the market.

She moved quietly among the altar offerings, her white robe trailing behind her like mist. A priestess. The realization struck him like a blow, leaving him momentarily stunned. Her hair was gathered loosely over her shoulders, the golden light of the temple torches catching on the strands.

Hector could only stare, his mind reeling.

A priestess of Apollo.

It explained everything: her gentle grace, the air of quiet reverence that surrounded her. And yet the realization brought him no peace—only confusion and frustration. Of all people, why had she been the one to linger in his thoughts? Why did it feel as though the gods themselves had placed her in his path only to pull her further from reach?

The girl had not seen him; she remained focused on her task, oblivious to his presence. Her hands moved with practiced ease as she rearranged offerings, her face serene, her gaze fixed on her work. Hector could not tear his eyes away.

What am I doing here? he thought bitterly. Why can’t I let this go?

He rose to his feet, his movements stiff and deliberate. With one last lingering glance at her, Hector turned and strode out of the temple, the weight of the day pressing down on him more heavily than ever before.

---

By the time Hector returned to the palace, night had fallen. The halls were quiet, but his thoughts were anything but. The image of her haunted him—the priestess whose smile had undone him in a single moment.

I don’t even know her name.

As he reached his chambers, he unstrapped his armor piece by piece, the clang of bronze ringing in the silence. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and yet all he could think of was the girl in white robes.

It was madness. And yet it consumed him.

For the first time in his life, Hector—the steady, unshakable prince of Troy—felt utterly lost.

[hayanwulf]

i NEED more of vampire stephen and blood donor loki

please-😭

Click here to read the first part of StrangeFrost Vamp!Stephen

I apologize to those readers who read my stuff only for M/M lmao, I’ve always viewed Loki as genderfluid and it has a heavy influence on the way I write them in a relationship.

“Stephen.”

Stephen ignored the call, buried nose-deep in his book.

“Oh just, put that away, will you?”

No, he couldn’t. He had been a vampire for nearly a week now, and there was still no solution in sight. None of the standard spells worked for him, because he had apparently been turned by a ‘pure blood’. So he had to find a solution, and soon.

He refused to live as a monster that needed to hurt other beings in order to survive.

Suddenly the book was snatched away from his hold. Stephen blinked dumbly, looking up at Loki’s retreating back.

“Loki, give it back. I need to find a reversal spell.”

Loki dropped the book on the other corner of the table with a thud, turning to face him. “What you need is some respite. You’ve been hiding in here for days. Let us go out, have some fresh air, as your Midgardians say.”

Stephen turned to look at the window.

The sun was high in the sky, and warm sunlight was streaming in through the open gap. The heat it brought in didn’t hurt Stephen, he had modified the Sanctum’s wards for his own safety the moment he had felt vitalized enough for it.

Stephen longed for the sun, though. He missed the warm, comforting feel of Fall sunlight on his skin.

He sighed tiredly, turning back to Loki. “You want me to step out in the sun?” He asked dryly.

Loki scoffed. “What do you take me for? I might thoroughly enjoy causing you a little mischief, but I’m not that callous. No. I had a much discrete place in mind.” With that, Loki held out a hand for him.

Stephen once glanced at the hand, then at the book that lay on the far corner of his table.

Well. It wasn’t like he was ever going to find the solution today itself.

He stood up and took Loki’s hand.

That familiar feel of Loki’s seiðr wrapped all around his body and he freely gave himself up to it. For a very brief moment, he was engulfed by a void, a state where his body existed everywhere and nowhere. It was an odd feeling, being teleported through Loki’s magic. It would certainly feel jarring for any non-magic person. Stephen, however, always found comfort in it.

When he could feel his physical form again, the landscape had changed.

They stood in the middle of a vast, snowy desert.

The night sky overhead was alive with swirling ribbons of colors, a hundred different shades of greens, purples, and blues, dancing across the heavens in graceful waves. The constellations of a million stars seemed almost dim in comparison as the auroras shimmered and twisted, casting a soft, almost magical glow on the snow.

As a sorcerer, Stephen had been to worlds unknown, had witnessed spectacles unseen.

Yet, it was the comparatively simplistic beauty of Aurora Australis that had him thoroughly enchanted.

I suppose there’s no place like home, he mused as he walked a slow circle, taking in the view of the entire South Pole sky.

A shimmer of actual magic at the corner of his eyes caught his attention, and he glanced down to find greenish-gold sparks of magic coming to life around Loki.

“I watched this Midgardian movie the other day,” Loki said conversationally as his green magic poured down to the snow, spreading all around under their feet, as though inspecting the snow. Gently probing it, forming a connection with it.

“You watched a movie?” Stephen asked with a raised eyebrow. “What happened to ‘you Midgardian’s methods of entertainment are all dull and inferior’?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Fine. I did not wish to watch it. But the Spider Child looked like he would have wept if I were to refuse him.”

Well, Peter’s puppy eyes had that kind of effect on pretty much any living being. So Stephen was going to allow that excuse.

Loki continued. “There was a queen, of ice. She made a palace with nothing but her own ability.”

Ah, Frozen. Of course, Stephen thought, as he watched the green shimmer of magic disappear into the snow, binding itself with the ice.

“I believe I can do it better than her,” Loki declared with a smirk.

Stephen hummed, eyes challenging as they stared at the Asgardian. “Be my guest.”

Loki took a step closer to Stephen, and as she did, she changed into her female form. Her robes changed from her usual battle-ready Asgardian garbs, into something a lot more suited for a princess in some royal ball. It wasn’t quite similar to Elsa’s, but was regal in its own right, with the touch of a fashion style that was undeniably Loki. It was a beautiful emerald green. A long, deep green cloak grew out from Loki’s shoulders as she took another step towards Stephen.

She took another step, slamming it down on the snow authoritatively, and her magic flared to life beneath their feet. Stephen watched in awe as a hexagonal platform formed under them and rose, six pillars around their platform rising higher to form a beautiful enclosure. He could smell Loki’s magic in the air as the ice shifted and transformed into beautiful crystals, forming a palace around the two of them. It was a parody of Elsa’s palace in Let it Go, though not identical, and had the influence of an architecture that was positively Asgardian.

“So, whose did you like more?” Loki’s voice drew Stephen’s attention, and it was only then that he realized that the structure’s formation had long since finished, and he was still marveling at all the details and the beauty of ice around him. He turned to her, and found her gazing at him with a satisfied smirk.

He huffed. “That smirk in your face tells me you already know the answer.”

She tilted her head, a perfect picture of oblivious. “Do I?”

The large icy doors to the balcony were open behind the goddess, beautiful lights of aurora visible from Stephen’s spot. The way it painted the backdrop behind a Loki who looked every bit the graceful Princess that she was, Stephen didn’t think he could take his eyes off of her even if he tried to.

“This is beautiful, Loki.”

You’re beautiful, he didn’t say, even though he really wanted to.

The bloodlust inside him slowly began to nudge his way up, reminding him what he had become now, reminding him that he might never have a human life ever again.

Even if he refused to acknowledge that.