#now imma pass out

[yyawnjun]

nd I feel I should be more spontaneous here! so maybe more people will feel comfortable interacting w me 🗣

[angelesca]

w.c. ~5k hooooly balllls | game system au! phainon x npc!gnreader, short stories, in da clerb, we all fam with the amphoreus cast, puppy phainon yippee, bantering with the game system, trying to avoid raising phainon's affection points but failing horribly💖reader has a lil' nickname ('moonlight'), goofy antics ofc ofc, finally some physical contact (it's a good day), written during ver.3.0! (forgive me for any poor characterisations!) [𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬]: 1 ┃ 2 ┃...

a/n: here i am again with another stupid idea (who is surprised). okay but the nymph emoticons lit a lightbulb in my head and BAM i gave birth a second child. drew inspo from [svsss], [orv], and [villains are destined to die]!

!!! disclaimer (read me) !!! in the game, there's no night in okhema city (as of writing this), but in this fic it happens! it's explained as best as my dumb brain could^^

“what… the… fudge.” you stare at the system pop-up, almost drooling from how long you’ve had your mouth open in disbelief.

marmoreal market. amphoreus’s civilians walk by you as if you are a passing breeze. in their sphere of natural time flowing, you are stuck with defective clockwork, unmoving in the present reality. what was once a screen of predictable code on your gaming device, is now alive. 

this must be a dream, an illusion drifting by in your head. it's that damn phone, isn't it? you need to stop staying up all night reading fanfic.

you shut your eyes.

…

… ping!

…?

groggily, you open your eyes. in front of you is the perpetrator:

[ヽ(o＾▽＾o) hi~]

angrily, you press the ‘x’ button and close it.

[ what's that for?! (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ ]

you mash your finger on the blue window repeatedly, poking the emoticon in the eye. “you did this to me, didn't you? you kidnapper!” your voice is brimming with fear, overflowing with confusion.

[ WHAAAAT?! (凸ಠ益ಠ)凸 just hear me out- ow! i’ll help you! and stop poking my eye already! yeowch! my nostril! ☆(＃××) ]

pausing, you take a deep breath. the gazes of alert onlookers are beginning to settle goosebumps on your skin. there’s not much that can be done for now, honestly, your best bet is to place some faith on this mysterious system. “... what do you want with me?” you whisper in the lowest volume your anger would allow.

[ hehe~ (o´▽`o) ] you don’t like that expression at all. [ it’s exactly as i’ve told you from the start: become the main character of the newest update in honkai star rail, amphoreus! ] (this is not an advertisement)

“nah.” unamused, you walk through the window which shatters dramatically.

[ (°ロ°) hah? ] 

you scoff. the troublesome titankin? unending side quests and puzzles? responsibilities? fighting a literal god? who the hell wants to do all that? clenching your fist, resolve reconstructs your confidence. and you definitely don't want to listen to an annoying emoticon who forced you here. “i… will live quietly as an npc!” don't let the system have their way!

[ HAAAaAH???! Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;) ]

you find your 88th chest of the day. it's pretty much stealing yet no one bats an eye, do amphoreus civilians also happen to offer customary welcomes for robbers in their houses? at least you are adapting to the world quickly given your game knowledge.

[ surprised you haven't encountered any enemies this past month. usually, the mc has to do some fighting... ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌ ] is what the system said. guess the npc life was made for you.

when you open your 88th chest, you immediately regret it. a purple void cleaves the air and a familiar character dives out. it emotes cheekily, swooping the chest like an eagle to prey. “teehee~ this is mine now!”

[ that’s bartholos the spirit thief. ( ° ∀ ° )ﾉﾞ] [ new achievement: 'meeting bartholos!' ]

bartholos, spirit thief. distasteful memories rewind their tape in your head. the anger you felt seeing this thief pop up, doing the tedious minigame... fury untethered, its primordial tides stirs the previously calm waters of your mind. [ -75 sanity... ]

“... you lil’ flappin’ shirthead. i will rip your throa buy you a lovely necklace and stew you cook you my favourite stew!” 

[ bartholos is confused! ]

“you fu***** bi** sh****** p******* **@^*)>{“£$^*!!!!!” [ OMG! the system can’t keep up with the filtering! ｏ(＞＜；)○ ] “*****pots clanging*****cats meowing*****???***more farting***??”

[ shots fired! it's extremely effective! ]

“o-o-okay! geez, take it… ” bartholos drops the chest, hands in the air. “damn, is it that serious?”

[ w-what kind of npc are you? ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : ) ]

"what do you mean?" you pant, "that was totally npc-like." rule #1 in 'the npc survival handbook': gotta make a living somehow.

[ oh, there's an injured pers- don't just ignore them! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ ]

you had just passed by a dark alley, genuinely not having noticed someone laying there because of the night shadows. and not because you were stuffing your face with sagelore fruit. rolling your eyes, you say, "pay me (nom nom)."

[ huhu (μ_μ) you're so cruel... ]

you cock an eyebrow. "and who forced me here (muffle muffle)?"

[ new side quest: 'be a good person!' ] [ reward: 1500 credits ]

squinting, you read it over - the reward is quite hefty? rule #1 resounds in your head: 'gotta make a living somehow'. retracing your steps, you decide to investigate the shrouding darkness, fingers tracing along the walls.

[ take this! ψ( ` ∇ ´ )ψ ]

your foot catches onto a stray object. "huh?!" the ground slips beneath you and gravity is pulling you by the hand. fortunately, you land on top of something. a solid hand is placed on your lower back, having caught your fall.

analysing whatever it is, you recognise its familiarity: white hair, heroic armour, long cape... oh. oh. oh no. oh nonononono. [ oh yes (≖ ͜ʖ≖) ]

rule #2 in the 'npc survival handbook': do not get involved with the chrysos heirs. you gulp. "yo, i'm outta here-"

[ new mainline quest! complete the scenario to advance~ ]

"you littl-" [ violation of system rule #87: do not speak out of character ] "wha-"

[ please choose out of the following options]:

[ i love you! ]

[ let's arrange a marriage NEOW (charisma check) ]

[ if you and i were socks, we'd make a great pair! ]

your eyes could pop out of their socket. what is the system trying to do here? worst wingman in history! without meaning to, you choose the secret fourth option: silence. you awkwardly stare at each other. [ he is confused! ] [ hehe~ okay, i'll stop~ (o^ ^o) that was fun ]

"you shouldn't be here," a serrated voice, sawing into your ears, slices through the stiff silence.

[ 'ooc' turned on ] you feel your throat clear, recclaiming your words. "yes, i agree." you nod your head enthusiastically. "i should be home, cosy in bed." [ oh, come on (￢_￢) ]

"haven't you noticed it's night time?"

"uh," you crook your head up. "i did[n't]." now that he mentioned it, no one else was awake in ohkema city, as if in hiding.

"then please find somewhere safe," he pushes himself up with ripened strength. "it's dangerous to-" he winces. you back away, searching for the site of cause. blood is pooling on his abdomen.

you didn't expect him to be in such a state. how many enemies was he fighting off? glass fiddles in your pockets, reminding you of your spoils. hurriedly, you hand him a health potion that you definitely did not steal. then, painkillers, disinfectant, and so on.

he asks quizically, "how do you have so many things in your pockets?"

"don't worry about it." just videogame things innit. silently, you tend to his wounds though your effort is clumsy.

he looks up at you. his hand timidly ghosts along the road of your working arm, driving closer and closer, as if he's navigated it before. a familiarity that suggests crossed trajectories, but with the way you avoid his eyes, the paths quickly rupture back into parallel lines.

ping! [ new achievement: 'meeting phainon' ] [ phainon's affection +1! ]

you had to repel phainon, but he's strongly magnitised. it's been a few days like this and you don't know why - it's not like you have dog food in your pockets.

"so, what do you do for a living?" oh no, he's is showing interest and his imaginary dog tail is wagging.

your mind blanks. it's not like you can tell him you steal chests and spit bars at bartholos. that'd be a prison speedrun. "i... i'm a professional npc..." [ great impression (￣_￣) ] you groan at the system message.

he tilts his head, curiousity shining in his eyes. "en... pee... sea?"

"uhhh," you falter. then, a lightbulb. wait, wouldn't this is be a good opportunity to change his impression of you—for the worse? anymore association with a chrysos heir is basically a life sentence to becoming the mc, right? "... i," you tinker with your head. "... i sniff armpits..." [ ... my ears hurt (¯ . ¯;) ]

phainon can only smile stiffly. "ahaha?" [ phainon is... intrigued? what's with this guy ] [ phainon's affection +1!(?) ]

... that did not work. rule #3 of 'the npc survival handbook': don't draw attention to yourself (failed).

another day in your life...

"do you know about the other chrysos heirs?" phainon asks, carrying your haul of limited edition honeycakes. [ w(°ｏ°)w finally, the plot is moving! ]

"no," you refuse adamantly, "and i don't want to know because it's too much exposition to listen with no skip butt-"

"hello..."

you jump. "wah?!" the girl bloomed by death's hand studies you, her dark circles accentuating her eyes.

a deep voice thrusts himself in. "are you phainon's new sparring partner? hmph."

"the new traveller? you must be the one the threads were whispering about... why don't we have a chat later?"

"we welcome you to ohkema! isn't it great?!"

"isn't it great...?"

"isn't it great? hmph."

[ isn't it great? ＼(＾▽＾)／]

why in kephale's name is every chrysos heir suddenly here? is this a family gathering or what? it's like you're meeting your in-laws, ready to get their blessings for phainon's hand in marriage.

[ your future husband ] phainon smiles warmly. "well, now you know them." [ handsome as always (＾་།＾) ] [ new achievement: 'meeting the family!' ]

"do you want to embalm a corpse with me...?"

"are you really phainon's sparring partner? come, let me test your prowess in battle."

both of your sides are occupied. along with a tall puppy, there's also a purple butterfly and a tabby cat apparently [ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ]. "don't you guys have to save the world?"

castorice nods slowly. "indeed... finding thanatos, i hope to recover my past too..."

mydei crosses his arms. "of course i want to defeat nikador and return to castrum kremnos one day. but who says heroes don't need rest?"

"and you both decided to spend it with me of all people?"

"phainon mentions you a lot... we simply wanted to see for ourselves," castorice replies, "should we invite tribbie too?"

"please don't," you shrug your shoulders. "i'm only an npc, nothing to see here." [ are you sure about that? 🤨 ] suddenly, emojis?

"en-piii-she...?" castorices points a finger to her lip.

"em... piss... cee? what's that?" mydei lifts an eyebrow.

you were not gonna answer that again. [ castorice's affection +1! ] [ mydei's affection +1! ]

in the distance, threads begin to murmur a song. the dressmaster's fingers weave through her strings, strumming each one to orchestrate amphoreus’s future stage.

aglaea’s eyebrows dip. tribbie's ears opened at the first note, wary. "the threads are strained..."

[ (＠＾◡＾) ~ ] "phainon, dearie, how have you been?"

[ ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ ] "phainon, come look at the fresh fruit!"

phainon, is admittedly very popular, a stark contrast to you, like day and night. "how do you have so much energy to interact?" you question.

phainon is now petting a large dog, wearing a large grin when the dog licks his face. in your eyes, they are a pair of twins playing with each other. "i think it just comes naturally. it's a part of my duty to the citizens."

duty. the word is tiresome in your head. you crouch down, rubbing the large dog's fur. "then, is there anything you want to do for yourself?"

"oh..." he trails off, stealing a glance at you. the steady waves in phainon's eyes shine blue, finding your reflection in them on his horizon. "there are many things i'd love to do. you know, i'm jealous of you." [ (╬`益´) HE'S LYING-! ] you press the mute button.

"what do you mean?"

sunlight perches itself on top of his head, kissing the crown of his head like a tender mother to born babe. you feel your breath being stolen. he is surely nature's revered child. "i hope to be as free as you someday, doing whatever i want," he says (he doesn't know about the chest-stealing, does he?). a face steeled from suffering, regret, and past mistakes, smelts under your warm gaze. if you were to lift his lips up with your fingers, you would find it malleable without resistance. "away from all the chrysos heir business - it gets stressful at times."

your heart skips, understanding. beneath the exterior of a hero is someone who wants to live like every other ordinary person. your heart skips one more time, hearing how you could inspire a chase for freedom in him. [ your understanding of phainon has deepened ] an unsuspecting heat runs laps across your cheeks. you both wave goodbye to the dog. "so... you want to be an npc too?"

"n-p-c," phainon recounts, "an armpit sniffer?" he teases.

"nevermind." unconciously, you brush away the strands of hair obscuring phainon's eyes, taming his fur. his eyebrows lift, eyes radiant. ears redden. "ah..." a timid disappointment when you stop, fluffy ears drooping.

silently, you think the conversation over. duty... is that what creates purpose? should you find one too? does an npc need to think this extensively? perhaps this is a part of you speaking, begging to fit in with this foreign world.

freedom and obligation. can't both co-exist?

one day, you're haggling at the market stalls, firing words no one could understand. [ phainon's affection +1! ]

another day, you're falling off the dromases every minute. phainon watched you get strapped to the saddle with rope when all else failed. [ phainon's affection +1! ]

today, you ate agalae's stock of afternoon tea desserts. [ phainon's affection +1 ]

and tomorrow, you'll ask castorice and mydei to fight to the death to settle the philosophical dilemma of the 'unstoppable force vs. immovable object'. you told him of your evil plans. [ phainon's affection +1 ]

"uh, can you stop doing that?" you turn towards the human-sized dog behind you. [ phainon's affection +1 ]

phainon stops in his tracks. "doing what?"

you point at him. [ phainon's affection +1 ] "... nevermind." you give up. it's a bit endearing, honestly. you've come to appreciate his presence accompanying you. a small smile plays on your lips. [ phainon's affection +10!!! ] ..?

[ new mainline quest! 'chat with aglaea.' ]

that's was a great start to your morning; the deafening system alarm was a nice touch. you threw a fist at the pop-up, annoyed. [ this is abuse!! (ಥ﹏ಥ) ]

so now, you are in the bathhouse with aglaea [ and me! (*ˊᗜˋ*) ]. she slides a thick envelope across the table you were both sitting at.

hesitantly, you take it under her inspective gaze. apprehension takes root in your guts. you open the envelope. [ 7-7-7 TRILLION CREDITS??!! =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ] you look up at her, stunned. you only know how to mutter her name, "aglaea...?"

"i urge you to take it and travel far away," she explains, tapping the table with her finger. "the strife titan is closer than ever and amphoreus is losing itself to dark nights due to the black tide. yet, phainon is distracted at this crucial moment." the tapping stops. "and i suspect you are the cause of his straying mind."

you point at yourself, disbelieving [ (⊙_⊙) ☜ ? ]. "me?" you've seen this in dramas before - the part where the mother-in-law bribes her son's partner. you could almost laugh at the comparison. realistically, you would choose the money...

"-but that's not up to you," you frown, remembering yesterday. "phainon can choose what he wants to do."

you have come to understand each other, yes, the stars are re-writing your definitions - phainon, the great warrior who yearns for a quiet life, pledging to his one moon, and you, an outsider who went as they pleased yet also wanted to belong. if aglaea is to deny his longing desires, then it is to deny your existence.

"don't make me laugh," aglaea reprimands sternly. the threads in the air are tense, ready to cut. your throat cinches. "freedom is something we gave up long ago to devote ourselves to amphoreus's amity." a pained expression fades within a split second.

a heaviness spears into you, weighing you down. you look at your feet. she is right, but you can't help but feel pierced into. silence reigns the air.

ping! [ hey! (눈_눈) ] you look up. [ what are you doing right now? ]

...? [ you said you'd live freely! (albeit as an 'npc') why are you hesitating now? you're letting the system win! ]

"huh?" isn't that what the system wanted though? to have you obey the rules and the role of a typical mc. then again, when did you ever listen to it? "uh, well..."

aglaea stands up. "that's all i want to convey."

"wait," the words suddenly burst out, a wave of energy surging. [ go go! ] "... saving amphoreus, it's not only an obligation, but something all the chrysos heirs chose for themselves." [ ∑d(°∀°d) ] aglaea raises an eyebrow. she is letting you speak what could be your final words.

"... castorice wishes to recover her past. she will defeat thanatos and save amphoreus, to discover the world with newfound purpose."

"mydei hopes to return to castrum kremnos and sever the last ties. he will defeat nikador to protect amphoreus and his new life."

"and phainon has people he wants to protect. and to do that, he will save amphoreus to keep them safe."

"the chrysos heirs all share the same feelings as you, hearts strong; saving amphoreus, but to also save a future of their own as well. so... put more faith... in them..." the words die out when you realise that what you've been saying, to aglaea of all people. her stare is critical, analysing your flaws. "or don't..." well, it was a good life.

you are expecting the sweet release of death. but nothing comes. it is silent before aglaea sits back down, one leg crossing over the other. she rests her chin on her hand, looking into the distance. seemingly conflicted, as if not wanting you to look at her, but hoping you'd stay for a bit longer. the ice in the air warms bit-by-bit. you process the silent understanding with her, watching the water flow. [ aglaea's affection +1 ]

"don't die guys. seriously." you give mydei a pat on the back, and castorice a thumb up because she'll instantly dissolve you otherwise. "where's phainon?"

"i saw him on the rooftop... i think he's wait... ing..." castorice trails off, head bobbing from a lack of sleep presumably.

mydei scratches his head. "we'll head off first then," he sighs. "don't keep him any longer than you have to."

"why am i-" the pair gradually get smaller into the distance. "-the one to go?" [ new mainline mi- ] "yeah, yeah, i get it." you wave the message away. [ 凸( ` ﾛ ´ )凸 ] you smile. [ YOU LAUGHED- ] muted.

sure enough, you find the missing person on a rooftop. phainon is surprised to see you. you wave, approaching him. "yo."

"... yo." he mirrors, brightening like the sun. but behind the smile were shadows.

"what's up?" you ask.

phainon is in quiet contemplation. "i'm afraid, honestly," he starts, "i do want to defeat nikador. it's been a life-long goal."

"but... i wish i could run away too, away from the commitment. rest my eyes and not have to think or worry."

insecure, anxious. you saw hints of it before, but now he has cracked completely, revealing to you. the calm before the storm. a final exchange of all the unwritten words.

you make an inch for his hand, but unsure, you retract it. "you sound as if you'll die."

his eyes widen. "i didn't mean to insinuate..." he looks down forlornly, at the distance between his and your hands. the quiver in his fingers craves, agitated. "i can't die yet, there's too much i want to do." his eyes move to yours. but the embarassment he feels when you reciprocate it quickly deflects his gaze away.

skin to bone; rust to metal. they only rot to the test of time, and it is only in this way that phainon will release himself from the overworld. not to the titankin, not to nikador, but a natural harbinger. that way, every breath, down to his last, can be spent on you.

you really want to pet his head. thinking back to the conversation with aglaea, you construct your words, "come home after this. to amphoreus, to the chrysos heirs. afterwards, there will be time for your heart to rest."

all these answers but phainon didn't find one to the question he is searching for. he tugs at your sleeve, eyebrows frowning. you feel almost shy looking into his faithful eyes. "will you be there too?"

your mouth opens, "me?" his ears wait for an answer. his fingers fiddling your fabric to as if to annoy a response out of you. reject, accept, deny, he's begging for anything. it doesn't matter.

phainon is entirely devoted to you, for reasons he had yet to explain. this part of his story is not left out. claim, discipline, stipple your mark into him and his skin will not rebound from your carving. until skin melted into flesh, and flesh peeled off his bones, and bones pulverised into dust, everything would remain as history written on his body until then.

at the end of the day, into the night, he is waiting for you. he's hoping you'll do the same.

a velvet smile paints your face, heart beating, your answer as natural as day and night: "i will be waiting too." for him, and his story of devotion.

"when we reunite, let's make a world of our own. one we both belong to, and one where we are free to do everything we want. where the sun guides us and the moon watches over, co-existing." [ ... ]

rule #2 in the 'npc survival handbook': do not get involved with the chrysos heirs.

phainon finds solace in the crook of your neck, strong arms wrapped around you but his hold trembles. you let him do as he please - let his heart, something he almost gave up, finally express itself, and you can hear his heart beat prove its existence. quietly, you card through his white strands with your fingers.

the sun begins to set.

"phainon, i order you to track this outsider. i do not know how they happened to breach okhema, but i suspect they fell from beyond the sky," agalae instructed, eyes sharpened. "if they make any suspiscious movement, or mention the forbidden, they must be dealt with swiftly."

thus, phainon watched over you, playing executioner. another mission, nothing new. leave them alone if proven harmless, execute if necessary.

standing upright on a rooftop, the first time he laid eyes on you, you were in the middle of marmoreal market, dazed, speaking... to no one? then the chest stealing, the sagelore fruit stuffed in your mouth, doing everything that you pleased - riding the loose currents of freedom, unrestrained by rules. without knowing, bright laughter left his rigid lips.

as days passed, disturbance grew. for whatever reason, the titankin were strongly attracted to you, as if you were an anomaly they had to eliminate. before one of them could strike you-

"hm?" as soon as you turned around to look, there was nothing there but the glaring sun quietly protecting you all along.

months passed like this and phainon slowly carved your existence into amphoreus. from the big movements, the twitching in your expressions. to the hollowness in your eyes when you watched the people chatter, the children running by, the scholars conversing. he saw it then. a black sheep walking among the herd; a shard of the night misfitting itself into bright daylight.

chaos worsened. the black tide brought night and agitated harmony's wavelengths. the titankin spiralled and even more were after your throat. took its toll on phainon as he stayed by your side when amphoreus was asking for him. it was one of the few times that he let his duties go for something he freely chose to do. although, the price to pay was hefty - it was him against many. and the threads hummed tunes about his misdeeds.

as much as the dark scared him, the night carried you to him on that fated day. you were going to kill him. open his stomach. stab his chest. those were most effective. but you felt so warm in his arms when he caught you.

in the back of his mind, a nagging hope procured a promising premonition. a hope brought to flame, his studying that came to fruition, when you tenderly looked after him.

he looked up at you. the moon softly caressed its shimmer upon you. you were moonlight. and from there on, the sun orbited the moon. a devotion that naturally made sense, that was meant to be.

days turned to weeks. you tried not to think about the emptiness. who are you? someone waiting for their husband to return home from war?

"hey kid, watch out." you steady a brown-haired kid before he could fall over again. he bows, thanking you. you learned his name was theophis.

"buying more sagelore fruit? come, come! the produce this season is at its ripest." their name was auguste.

"good morning, dearie. is phainon not here today either?" her name was hegesia.

again and again, you strolled around okhema, sticking names to familiar faces. the people grew to know you as time moved its hands - a sense of belonging and purpose in a place once foreign. you found yourself engaging with them, not because of a reward, or even being forced to do it.

it is then that you realise it. chatter, talking, noise. yet, everything is too quiet at the same time. no banter, no teasing remark... nothing.

in the middle of marmoreal market, you stand dazed again. something is supposed to guide you in moments like these. your heart is heavy, mourning a loss.

"system?"

the wind slips through your fingers, proudly holding your hand. it answers your call.

you are sound asleep when the night courses through your balcony, blowing the curtains with its star-glistened breath. the cautious clicking of boots unheard. fingers delicate, lips yearning, but settlling for gently pressing their head against yours, lightly rubbing back and forth. so careful, too delicate, a touch that only borders the rim of a minute gap between you and him, afraid to rouse you from your dreams.

"my moonlight... "

strangely, you slept well last night. and the night after that. and the next one too. you did your usual routine in marmoreal market and were about to head home when a strong gust of wind attacks you. "woah!" you hold your arms in front you.

the breeze gradually calms, tugging at your clothes. slowly, you lower your arms, feeling the familiarity in its touch. the wind guides you by the hand, dragging you hurriedly to the rooftop and you recognise his back.

"phainon?" he jumps a little at the sound of your voice, his tail wagging. his owner has returned. he awkwardly rubs a hand on the back of his neck, bashful - those ears are red again. what's he hiding?

his shoulders shake slightly. it is taking all his strength to not run into your loving arms. before he could, there was something in his cards to reveal. he turns around, closing the distance, and you finally meet his face. a very flushed one, that is. but a face you missed all the same. he clears his throat. "i want to explore amphoreus, find a quieter place," he says, structuredly, "i will return to okhema when needed, of course, but for now... the heart wants to rest," he extends his hand towards you. "will you come with me?" his hand trembles.

no pressure, no forcing. he is letting your heart decide the flow. he would go anywhere you wanted, as your desires are also his as much as it is yours. this is the freedom he wants, a drift of the wind that you decide, as long as he can ride along it with you. the direction does not matter when the amphoreus is only a speck in the universe, with so much to explore.

a smile creeps onto your lips. you steady his hand into yours. even after all this time, he acts like he's meeting you for the first time. "why wouldn't i?"

"oh," phainon immediately brightens. "g-great!"

you remember the well-rested nights. "but it was you, wasn't it? how come you didn't reveal yourself sooner?"

his encompassing hands fidget with your ring finger. "i... was practicing my lines for days." he looks away. "i was really nervous," he mumbles.

you grin. "what were you so afraid of? it's only me."

he chuckles. "you're right..." slowly, he takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. your cradle is a fondness reserved only for him. in his eyes, an affection that has accompanied you everywhere, since you first got here. a love that didn't need recognition, it only asks to follow you and shower him with the sound of your laughter when he gets lonely. "about everything, about us, i want to tell you how it all started from my eyes. ever since you got here..." -the sun had always followed the moon. he kisses your palm.

and before he forgets, phainon hands you an envelope. it is as heavy as you remember it to be. "all their blessings are in here, the chrysos heirs."

it really sounds like you are getting married. you let out a tired laugh.

there are no more rules. whether from a sense of obligation, freedom or loneliness, you'll both live how you want. become the main characters of your own stories.

"let's go!" with no time to waste, phainon excitedly takes you by the hand, legs flourished by the wind and trails of good fortune. the day is beginning to rise, and the sun is more than happy to follow his moonlight into the next day, and for all of infinity and evermore.

"godspeed to you," tribbie clasps her hands together in prayer, looking down at the pair from the far above. then, she smiles, her head swaying side-to-side. "searching for a small world of their own. it's almost like an elopement, isn't it, agy?"

aglaea hums, hand on her heart. the threads chime a ceremonial aria, the ice melts ever so little. "the heart... knows what it wants."

a person closes the novel they were reading. sighing, they pick up their phone and start typing again:

"this author has balls of steel to come back with another disasterous novel. so criiiiiiinge. where was castorice at the end? i was waiting for her! why is the male lead, a powerful warrior, reduced to a lovesick puppy? how does that make sense, you stupid author! such abysmal writing full of holes, leaking enough to fill an entire ocean. insanity, i say!" this random nobody criticises, slamming their fingers on the screen. they clear their throat. "hmph. the next volume better be coming soon."

a/n: im pooped, expect my third child to come out next year probably. everyone's invited to the baby shower, just make sure to bring ur best costumes. my back breaks everytime i have to argue philosophy with the reader and the characters like,, im being attacked from all sides. fun fact: ever since i prematurely posted my sunday fic, when im sleeping, everytime i hear a phone notif i instantly wake up bc i get scared thinking i accidentally posted again. so thats cool. new trauma gained ig😜 idk what else to say. like and subscribe, hit the bell icon for notifications. lemme know ur fav toothpaste brand. [ new achievement: 'thanks for reading!!' ヾ(*'▽'*)' ]

[somebody-1]

Scott Pilgrim Vs. Scott Pilgrim x 10???

[shandzii]

Explosion

[ihatebrainstorm]

A whole new universe for us to explore together!

[little-pondhead]

Who Will Be Danny's Universe?

-happy 20th anniversary!!-

[special close-ups and details below cut]

-

Sputnik 2's launch date: 3 November, 1957

Sputnik 2's time of launch: 02:30:42 UTC

Chronicles of the Last Starman is a comic book written and illustrated by Gio Nostra. Signed with the message, "Thanks for your support, Danny! Remember to keep stargazing! -Gio"

[This is a fictional title and author I made up for the sake of the story. The original first two pages of this comic are based on an actual comic seen in the episode Kindred Spirits. I redrew them in my style, and the last panel shows that Danny put down the comic book to continue reading at a later date.]

A collection of books and a snow globe. The snow globe has a piece of the Andromeda galaxy stored inside, and the label says ANDROMEDA in canon ghost speech.

The green book is titled Native Plants of the Gardens and is written in canon ghost speech.

The purple book is titled Time Travel: Don't Fuck It Up and is written in fanon ghost speech developed by @five-rivers

The yellow book is titled People and Their Choices and is written in a font called Galaxia (I forgot where I found it)

[themintman]

Inspired by an actual conversation I had over WhatsApp once 😊😊

[nounaarts]

Screenshot redraw!

One of the best fight scenes in the show, you can't convince me otherwise!

[markanddebbie-protectionprogram]

comparison and analysis on eve and mark's colors

i know this miggght be me overthinking but i really need to get it out of my system ahahajshajsha

Pink is definitely Eve's signature color, it's the main color of her costume yet somehow you don't see that in her casual attire. As for Mark, no doubt his signature color is blue (even yellow can be included), and that's obvious in both his costume and his casual attire.

this post contains pics from season 1 and the atom eve special, putting a cut here cause this is lowkey long so,,,, oops-

Eve wore pink a LOT when she was a kid, it's in her every outfit throughout all the time skips in the special. When a character has a signature color, it's something that's reflected in (nearly all of) their outfit/s.

So where did the pink go on Eve's casual attire on season 1? Where did she even got the idea of wearing yellow of all colors when it's so far from her favorite color? There's red that when you mix it with white, it gives you pink. So she could have had a red top and white pants in her current casual attire, but that's not the case.

We got our answer on who she got the idea of wearing yellow from in the Atom Eve special: it was from Betsy.

There's a key thing that I noticed from the shade of yellow Betsy wore and what Eve is currently wearing. Betsy's yellow seemed happier. It was more vibrant.

Comparing Betsy's yellow to Eve, Eve's yellow is lighter. It's dull. As if it was drained of its vibrancy. And with what we saw of Eve's past in the special, it checks out that she must've have become so, so tired of so many things.

In animated series, yellow is often associated with warm, happy, and energetic characters. But when it comes to cinematography, yellow represents other things. From the link, I think cowardice is the symbolism of Betsy's yellow - due to her fear of Eve not being "normal" and her inability to accept Eve as she is. And @mandareeboo even pointed out Betsy telling Eve to "try harder" which leads to the symbolism of yellow that I associate with Eve: insecurity. There is no bigger source of insecurity than having your own parent say that to you, especially at a young age when a lot of things feel they're scary and overwhelming that you need a parent to guide you through it but instead they just tell you to repress yourself.

It's no wonder that Eve's yellow looked pale in comparison to past Betsy's yellow, pretending for years must have been exhauasting.

(Before anyone comment that Zak could be the reason Eve wore yellow instead of Betsy, I have an explanation I'm going to be giving later so please bear with me on this one hahahsdfjahsfda)

Now on to Mark!!

In the Atom Eve special, Debbie wore no shades of either blue or green. In fact, her top's color leans more to give a nod to Nolan's signature color (red). That, and their family pictures from season 1 showed that aside from Debbie, there was a time that Mark wore red too.

Compared to Eve and Betsy, I find it so fascinating that the opposite applies for Mark and Debbie.

We can see that kid Mark's shorts and top are currently the colors of Debbie's top and pants.

It was a nice switch to see the mom's colors reflecting her child. You often see the kid copying the color of their parent/s. This doesn't necessarily mean Debbie copied Mark, as a mom, this is her way of commemorating her son.

The two stripes on Mark is a brighter shade of aquamarine while Debbie's top is a darker shade of Caribbean green, and both colors are near to each other in the color spectrum. Which is definitely something we can describe their relationship: they are close to each other.

I always thought that the stripes across Mark's chest was sort of a subtle design thing to show that he keeps his mom, who represents his humanity, close to his heart. Seeing that Debbie got her colors from kid Mark adds a whole new layer to it.

This is the part where I compare the then & the now:

The reason why I mentioned Eve would never have picked up yellow with Zak in mind was that he was just a temporary figure in her life. Eve used to wear pink so much before, it was her favorite - so one can assume that the color itself brought her joy. You see Betsy wearing pink (this is the episode Eve left "home"). So my reasoning for Betsy wearing this color was to appease Eve, while Eve wore yellow to represent her trying to please her mom.

For Debbie and Mark, it was crucial for Debbie to wear the colors Mark wore as a kid. Throughout the series, we see how desperate Mark wanted to be like Nolan, to be good with his powers so he can be a good hero. One would think that Mark would have incorporated red in his outfit, but he didn't. What stood in the place of red in Mark's outfits was yellow, a color that's close to red in the rainbow arrangement. Using the same link for the meanings of the color yellow in cinematography from earlier, Mark's yellow symbolizes two things: naivety and idealization.

See how Mark has a yellow button-up underneath his sweater? It's his naivety about his father, it's not all out there yet it's on all the ends of his sweater as if making sure you know that the yellow is something that should be seen. And Mark's yellow I in his costume? That's idealization. In his eyes, Omni-Man is (probably, I can't speak for Mark 100%) the best hero. He idolizes his dad, there was never a doubt about it. He has put Nolan in such a high standard that there was more yellow in his costume to represent his idealization rather than his own signature blue.

That's why it's so important that Debbie wore his colors from the Atom Eve special in season 1. That Mark sees that on his mom. It was a reminder of kid Mark. That even then, he was just as precious. That he mattered even wayyyy before he had powers. That he mattered because of his humanity.

[inhales deeply to catch my breath] NOW FOR THE FINAL PART!!

i'm sorry this is so long i had so many thoughts about colors, color symbolism in characters is so personal to me.

you guys can skip these pics and list cause this is kinnnnd of a stretch now hahajsdfha - feel free to go straight at the portion after the bullet points end, that's just my final ramblings dedicated for season 2

Back to topic of colors!! It's obvious at this point how relevant both Mark and Eve's moms are when it comes to their colors. So it leaves me with two remaining things about Mark and Eve: (1) the color red on Mark on his casual outfit and (2) the color pink on Eve on her casual outfit

The only moments we saw red on Mark that isn't blood is when he wore his bag. Now I know this is a pretty small thing but that bag could literally be ANY other color - and it isn't, it's specifically red. It could have been white to match his shoes or black to match his hair but it's neither of that. It's red. It's Nolan.

I think it's really important to know the relevance of that red bag, especially in those two pictures. (1) The moment Todd was harassing Amber and Mark wanted to intervene, it's totally obvious that Mark carries the heavy fact that at the moment, he's powerless unlike his dad. And it sucks. Cause he's his father's son and even though he carries his blood, at the time, he doesn't carry Nolan's powers. It doesn't stop him from defending Amber, but it still hurts bothliterally from Todd's hits and emotionally. Mark's carrying the feeling of inadequacy cause he has no idea how to defend himself in this situation, his dad never taught him how to fight because he didn't have powers.

(2) The second picture was Mark rushing to school because his training with his dad made him late for class. He got powers now, and it's literally dragging him from his education (among other things and that's including his relationship with Amber). His power of flight, no matter how fast it is, doesn't get him to places on time. Even when he got his powers, he still had problems. They actually piled up now.

Now as for Eve, sure her casual attire doesn't have any pink on it but her bags are pink!! (1) The first picture of her was when she and Mark met at school. During my first watch, I found it cute that she held on to the straps cause it's a little habit of mine when I wear backpacks. Then at the (2) other picture where she had her luggage out so she can run away from "home", I noticed they're pink too. And it's a small observation but compared to Mark that just lets his bag hang down, Eve holds on to her bags.

The bags are both pink, and pink is her color. It's not a piece or part of her, it's her. Pink has been something she deprived herself to wear but it's something she still wants to keep, even if it's just with bags. It's the thing she's comfortable to carry, it's something she wants to hold in her hands.

I know bags are a practical item for any student to have and I overthought a lot about their bags' colors but yeah hahasdfjasdfha I'm done with that now

CLOSING WORD TIMEEEE HAHAHADSFAHFAHA

man that was a lot, anywayssss

The season 2 poster showed that Debbie has a new outfit. As for Mark and Eve, they're both wearing their hero costumes.

Slight spoilers from the comics: When Nolan left, there was a time that Mark began to dress himself in a style similar to Nolan (I can't tag op for some reason :(().

I feel there's a big chance Mark and Eve will also have new casual attires this coming second season.

Mark is likely to dress similar to Nolan just like in the comics. He will definitely have questions about his identity now that he knew the truth about Nolan, so I think Mark won't be able to wear his usual colors to show that he's figuring things out.

Mark could also wear that blue and black costume, the one that doesn't have the yellow anymore. Because he won't be idolizing his father's heroic persona anymore.

Mark, of course, misses his dad but he won't be looking up to him anymore after what happened.

As for Eve's season 2 casual look though, now that she has her own treehouse and starting to feel free from her parents, I hope she allows herself to incorporate pink in her clothing. She deserves it <33

[earako]

A/N: idea from @goodtimeswithluigi thanks for the flangst fuel ^^

-/-

The thing that sucked about having memories erased and then coming back is that only some of them decided to be polite and slowly trickle in. Waddles, the kids, those memories poured in like the gentle trickle of water from a watering can. More immediate memories like Soos and Wendy slowly flowed in and filled the small pond in Stan's mind that was probably labelled 'family-' not that he'd ever admit it outloud.

Then there were the older memories. The ones that made it feel like Stan had just rammed his head in a brick wall for hours on end. Older memories usually. Stuff like high school, Glass Shard Beach, Ma's perfume, and Pa's suffocating cologne that even the memory of made Stan's head hurt.

Then...then there were the memories that made Stan want to curl up in bed all day. Those...those were usually memories of his grifter days. Or the science fair incident. The combination of having to live through the worst moments of his life, feeling all the hurt and pain and heartache and having to go through the emotional rollercoaster that was his late teens to early 30s over and over and over again. The late nights, the portal, the journals, slapping on a fake smile as Stanlely desperately tried to keep a con going long enough to pay off the house and loans because he'd be damned if his brother didn't have a house to come back to.

This morning was a memories that made Stan want to rot in bed kind of day.

His oh so wonderful brain decided to wake Stan up with the phantom feeling of gaping wounds where wings were supposed to be.

And here Stan had thought he was just born without them. An anomoly type thing, like his brothers fingers.

The searing phantom pain in his back said otherwise.

Stan tried to ignore it. Bit the pillow and tried to will himself back to sleep.

The pain pulsed again.

Stan huffed an irritated sigh and slowly pushed himself up, rolling onto his side with some difficulty and managing to sit up.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," Stan hissed to himself as he slowly got to his feet. "Sweet Moses, phantom pains a bitch," he murmered, slowly making his way downstairs to either the kitchen or the living room. He'd decide later whether the phantom pain required a t.v distraction or a food distraction.

"Stanley?"

"Ford?" Huh. Guess tonight was gonna be a brother distraction. Stanley ambled his way over to where Ford was hunched over the kitchen table, a mug gripped tightly in his hands.

Stan's back twinged again. He tried to hide it, grit his teeth, hid the pained gasp with a groan as he sat. Ford raised an eyebrow.

"And you're up because?"

"Hey, back at ya, Si- Poindexter," Stan replied, taking mind to avoid using the name the isoceles bastard had tainted- and how dare he, how DARE he! That was Stan's name first, that was the name Stan gave his brother to keep away the bullies and the bad thoughts that thought having one extra finger made someone an unlovable freak- if Stan had another chance to deck the discount dorito he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"You first," Ford grumbled, sipping what better not be coffee cause the last thing Ford needed on top of the stress of everything was more caffiene. Stanely narrowed his eyes at his twin.

"I asked first."

"Respect your elders."

"By fifteen minutes-ack!" Where Stan had been aiming for playful banter, his back decided now would be a good time to remember having muscle and sinew twisted, ripped, cut, then for the hell of it, tied into various knots. All while past Stan's screams were ringing into current Stan's ears.

A chair scraped, a cup clattered onto the table. Six fingered hands settled themselves on Stan's shoulder and were he caught up any further in the flashback Stan would have pushed the hands away.

Thankfully his phantom pain addled brain was in the present enough to recognize the six fingered hand was his brother and brother meant safe.

Stan violently squashed down the part of him that remembered holding up a hand for a high six only to get the curtains closed on him.

"Stan? Stanley?"

"Phantom pains a bitch," Stan mumbled, breath hitching and stifling down another pained groan. Without needing to be asked, cautious hands slowly made their way to where the base of where Stan's wings used to be and pressed down a bit. Stan shuddered.

"Hurts?"

"God no, do that again," Stan sighed as his twin began to chase away the pain and exhaustion radiating out of his back with nimble fingers. He hissed a few times.

Silence. Fabric rustling as Ford rubbed firm circles on Stan's back.

Ticking of the grandfather clock.

The sink dripping, Soos said he's fix it tomorrow.

Stan's exhales as Ford worked the tension out of his muscles.

It would've been nice, plesant even if it weren't for the worry nibbling at the corner of Stan's mind.

Ford was going to ask, wasn't he.

He was going to ask about the wings, moreso Stan's lack of wings, and then Stan was going to have to remember that memory and the spots where his wings seemed to be just would not stop throbbing! Ford's fingers were doing a good job of easing some of the pain the scars still screamed.

"Hey...Stan..." his twin began. Stan internally braced himself. He didn't want to talk about it but if Ford asked...

"Yeah?

"Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

Ford was always a shit liar.

And with the silence that followed Stan almost wished his twin had just asked instead of trying to spare his feelings.

-/-

""Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say." Ford clumsily lied, returning his focus to easing some of his twins pain.

He managed to distract himself for 5 seconds before his brain finally latched onto the issue bothering him.

His brother didn't have wings.

Ford's brother didn't.

Have.

Wings.

Now, that wasn't to say that being wingless never happened. Similar to his own polydactyly, some people just weren't born with wings.

Stan wasn't one of those people.

Ford remembered feathers brushing up against his own, large, proud wings curled protectively around him as Stanley told Crampelter and his gang to go suck an egg.

He remembered gentle hands going through his feathers, fixing them up and getting rid of old ones.

Ford remembered flapping his wings happily then instructing his twin to turn around, it was Stan's turn for preening.

Ford remembered how big Stanley's wings would puff up when he was angry or defending Ford from bullies.

And Ford remembered Stan's wings wrapping around himself whenever he accidentally caught their father on a bad day.

Stanley had wings, Ford knew Stanley had wings.

When Stanley was kicked out left he still had his his wings, Ford remembered them shaking, then drooping, and then puffing up again in hurt and anger.

And now Stan's wings were gone. He didn't have them anymore.

At first Ford had thought Stan was hiding them, similar to what Ford did with his own wings. He had thought his twin was just keeping his wings tucked away and safe beneath his clothes.

Then the fearymid happened.

And the clothing switch.

If Stan still had his wings Ford should've still been able to see them in his periphery when he reached behind his back to hand Stan his sweater, coat, and gloves. But he didn't.

And Ford had hoped that it was just because his brother was keeping his wings tucked close to him. He hoped he just couldn't see his brothers wings and tried to ignore the persistent voice asking what if Stan didn't have wings anymore? What if something happened to him?

Stan should have been fine, he was the personality, the free spirit.

Stan was supposed to be fine.

He wasn't.

And when Ford had switched clothes back with his now empty of all memories twin he was met with a cold, painful truth he could no longer deny.

Stan no longer had wings.

Ford's baby brother, his younger twin, had no wings.

Long, angry, jagged scars were all that was left of where large, dark brown, thick feathered wings should have been.

Someone or something had taken his brothers wings. And with how the skin looked Ford could only assume whoever or whatever had taken Stanley's wings yanked them out the same way a person would pull out a weed from a garden.

Ford didn't say anything, didn't want to add the pain and trauma that was obvious from where he was rubbing circles on Stan's back. That, on top of trying to help Stan regain his memories, it would have been too much. Stan would have been overloaded, asking about the wings while Stan was still regaining memories would have done far more harm than good

But Stan knew now, at least Ford assumed he did. Stan said phantom pains. Phantom pains were from injuries or lost limbs.

Stan knew he lost his wings, he must have. And Ford wanted to know, he wanted answers, targets, a hit list. He wanted to kniw the stories that hud beneath the skin where he could feel knotted sinew, muscles, and nerves.

He truly did not like the story the raised ridges and bumped on his brothers skin told.

Ford's hands began to press harder.

"Ford, FordFordFord ease up!" Stan yelped, squirming under Ford's hands.

"Sorry! Sorry," Ford said, taking his hands off Stan's back as if he had burned him (and he tried not to think of the brand just behind Stanley's right shoulder-)

"I didn't say stop, just ease up," Stan grumbled with no real heat or annoyance. Ford flexed his fingers, tried to ignore the, what he couod only describes as dried gore beneath Stan's skin, and returned to easing up his twins phantom pain.

He had to ask.

He needed to ask.

But he didn't know how and the silence that started out comfortable was turning oppressive and it would just be awkward at this point, what with Ford starting to say something and then saying he forgot.

Stan wasn't buying it. Out of the two of them Ford never got the hang of lying, at least not as well as Stan.

The questions sat in his throat, but Stan was so vulnerable with Ford at the moment, showing more trust in him now then he in the past weeks since Ford came back. Even while temporarily amnesic Stan was still fairly closed off and guarded, the fact that he hadn't told Ford to leave, that he was even letting Ford try and help with his pain?

Stan was like a wild animal when it came to his pain. He hated showing weakness, even to his own family and it only got worse as they grew older. Ford didn't want to break the delicate trust being placed in him at the moment by asking a boneheaded question or saying something that Stan would take the wrong way and causing him to march back upstairs, phantom pain be damned.

"Ford, I know you want to ask already so just say it." Ford jolted, hands momentarily stopping their movement. Stan leaned back, silently begging Ford to continue.

How much pain was Ford's twin in for him to be actively seeking out help? Stan hated asking for help.

He continued rubbing his twin's back when he felt Stan press up against his hand a second time.

"...How long?"

"You wanna be more specific?"

"I- when you- 30 years ago I thought you were just. Hiding them. Like I was." Stan's shoulders quaked with a low, humourless sounding chuckle.

"Nah, old things were gone long before that, si- poindexter." It was Ford's turn to wince.

That was always Stan's name for him. That name, only Stan was supposed to call him that yet Bill had to go and taint it and he didn't even come up with that nickname to begin with how dare he-

"You stopped again." Stan commented. Ford apologized but Stan just shrugged it off.

"S'fine now." Stan leaned away from Ford's hand's, rolled his shoulder's, then started back towards the stairs,

"Wait," Ford called, quickly grabbing Stan's wrist to stop him. His twin turned around and raised a brow in question.

"Are-whoever- you'd tell me if they were still alive, right?" Ford asked, the hand not holding Stan's wrist hovering over where wings used to be, where strong roots for strong wings were now just planes of ugly, angry, broken and mutilated skin.

Ford had never felt so angry in his life when he saw those scars. Not even when his perpetual motion machine broke.

"Even if they were, they're good at hiding."

"I'm good at seeking."

"Ford, drop it." The command lilted upwards at the end, sounding more like a question instead.

"Stanley. Your wings."

"Ack, they've been gone for more then 40 years now, what can ya do."

"Help with phantom pains apparently, and you will let me help you with them in the future." When Stan opened his mouth to protest Ford added, "Either you let me help you with your phantom pains or I dig into your past, find everyone who had ever hurt you, and interrogate them until one of them confesses to taking your wings."

Stan stared at Ford for a solid three seconds before answering. "Jesus, okay, okay, I'll let you know when the phantom pain acts up again."

"I will know if you're hiding it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Ford." Stan turned around again and went to head up the stairs but paused at the base of the steps for a moment.

"Hey uh..thanks, by the way. Not just for the back rub but for the uh. Memories and stuff, ya'know."

"You're stuck with me, knucklehead," Ford said, stepping closer to his twin and lightly tapping a fist against his shoulder. "If you get to spend 30 years bringing my stubborn ass back from various different dimensions I get to spend the next 30 years fussing over you."

"You can barely look after yourself."

"I'll learn." He opened his fist and squeezed Stan's shoulder, hoping it would convey what he didn't know how to say in words. Silent I love you's, thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for trusting me, and thank you for not giving up on me, he hoped that Stan got the message because if Ford even tried to say any of that at the moment he'd end up fumbling or choking in his words.

Stan reached up and squeezed Ford's hand back, understanding shining in his eyes.

His brother didn't have wings, and Ford could try to blame himself all he wanted to.

Guilt wouldn't bring Stan's wings back, feeling sorry for Stan wouldn't bring his wings back.

But Stan didn't seem to blame Ford so Ford wouldn't blame himself.

Stan trusted Ford with his pain. Ford would do his best to make sure his twins trust isn't misplaced.

They'd be okay.

[willbee-1]

Spoilers for the Caspian, Ari, Raza lore from today (4/4)

....I have some very strong words to Fable-

Sir- your telling me- your the reason Icarus even forgot about Rae being their broter in the first place????

Bc "he was being ⏃ distraction" and distracting Icarus from finding you

You modified Icarus memory *possibly* from the As It Is book so they would forget that and just leave him-

So did he do that to Rae to? Or just Ick bc at the start of the resets Rae would've remembered even if Ick forgot-

Oh i- mhmmmmm

.....imma throw hands /j

Raza even tries stopping Fable from breaking the As it is book- yet he kepted doing it bc "Icarus needed to be saved"

Like- oh my gods ⟟ didn't think ⟟ could dislike this man even more-

Also- the sarcophagus was opened twice, once by Raza bc Fable promised to help with maintaining purgitory and the As It Is book, which- ⟟ guess in ⏃ way he did help- kinda-

The second time was by everyone getting Fable out-

⟟ feel like Raza saying "you just gotta shut the door" to close it doesn't sound right-

Also Raza's voice is funkyyyy /pos

⟟ have thoughts why it threw Rae off- (that'll probably be ⏃ different post)

But mhmmmmm /pos

[kiora06]

New Shiv FRYE and No.6 Comic Up on Patreon [X]

EPILOGUE IS HERE!!! Folks pledged on Pareeon get first dibs on a New Frye and No.6 comic available on all tiers.

[marihem]

Let me be the one to ask. How did you come up with this Queerplatonic Frans concept? What drew you into making this?

Aww thank you for asking such a delicious question, pal! Hope you're ready to listen to my 1 am rambles XD

Alright so, to be completely honest...I actually don't truly know how Romance works to execute it myself 😬

Haha yup, sadly, the concept of Romance and Romantic Attraction didn't naturally come to me my whole life and I had a hard time understanding them. (Skill issue, amiright?) So I learned about them through fiction. And even then, my understanding of Romance was a little bit different from what it's usually is (spoiler: it wasn't actually Romance, the word I needed was "Queerplatonic").

I've drawn ship arts before I started drawing Frans and let me tell you, almost all of them were 2 characters just standing next to each other, no hugs, no kisses. Maybe they'll look at each other with fondness. And I was like "hell yeah, I've achieved Romance 😌" pfft.

My 2020 Frans works were where my ship art skills got improved. But you can still see that they aren't explicitly romantic (like, the first time I drew a Frans forehead kiss was for a request). Whatever, I was drawing stuffs about my fav lil guys and I was happy... and yet a tiny part of me wasn't feeling it, like it felt...odd to call them romantic. All these shippy art and I still felt uncomfortable to draw something extremely Romantic. (...this kinda sounds similar to a comphet kind of situation, you get what I'm saying?)

2 years later, I learned about the term "queerplatonic" and just like that, everything made sense =o Now THAT'S the kind of relationship I've been thinking about all these years and it felt magical. Suddenly, with this new knowledge, drawing shippy art felt more comfortable for me, cozy even. Cuz now, the "romance" I'm making is like something a little special for me.

And then I thought "what if I...👀" I grabbed Frisk and Sans like figurines and used them to make my own little ideas of a queerplatonic relationship as they were the perfect materials to work with for me.

I've actually been busying myself with thinking up ideas for them a year before I revealed it to my mutuals, even long before I revealed it publicly 😅

Still, my Roommate Banter AU Frans is still classic romantic. I've only been making funny lil contents of them but I swear! They're secretly crushing on each other, there's romance underneath! I just suck at Romance 😭

So yeah, TL:DR, I don't completely understand romance so I did what I felt comfortable and did actually get the most, approach a ship with a queerplatonic lens.

Tho I'm still learning about Romance cuz there're other ships I'd love to draw shippy art for XD

Anyways, yeah thank you to anyone who read all of this and thank you dear anon for indulging me with your ask <3 Have a lovely day/night ^^

[fictionalsillies]

Dude I need to know what you s/i would think of Jawbone before he got infected

Look at this fuckass /silly

Oh gosh - I honestly assumed that it was just another skeleton person entirely when I saw the episode , but the more I think about him being pre-infection Jaw Bone the more I fall in love with that theory :DD ❣️❣️

I can confirm that Jade would still definitely love him if he looked like that , I’m already thinking about potential AUs to make based on this concept … but that’s gonna need to wait since it’s 1:00 am for me and I’m starting to get sleepy ;C;

[rubiesintherough]

have a little meme call for peeps who are super awake: aric, seven, aedus, mahia, bren, cora, wraith, page, cassie, amara, lusca, nathan

poke the heart to get memes from a random assortment of them. or, reply to this post and lemme know which muse(s) you want things from, if you have a preference.

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.